


Of Foul Angels and Better Fiends

by ModernAnglophilia



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:23:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernAnglophilia/pseuds/ModernAnglophilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Loki's failed attempt to dominate Earth, Tony Stark has a difficult time adjusting to life after the Avengers. Back in Asgard, Loki receives an unlikely sentence as punishment and sees himself back on Midgard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Fiends Fall and Angels Fall Harder

**Author's Note:**

> I remember after watching the Lord of the Rings, I was just 11 and discovered the world of fanfiction. For 4 years I wrote and wrote about all of these different characters who touched me but, unfortunately, the days went by and I began doing other things. The writing stopped for a long time.
> 
> It is, however, with great pleasure, that I take it up again. Hoping I haven't lost any of the capabilities I had when I was 11, hoping I've improved more than anything, and hoping somebody, somewhere, will enjoy it.
> 
> Don't forget this is a WIP, and as I write it, I also have to revise for finals. There may be a few blank days, so you'll have to forgive me in advance for them.
> 
> If you have any "pressing" matters, comments, constructive criticism, don't hesitate to find me on Tumblr:  
> modernanglophilia. tumblr. com/

**Chapter 1: When Fiends Fall and Angels Fall Harder**

A long sigh was expelled from his lungs, passing through his trachea and finally liberated by his lips. The whole mechanism of it made him realize how dry his throat was, and how ridiculously scratchy his tongue felt against the roof of his mouth. Keeping his eyes closed tightly, he tried to negate the pinkish hue his lids made him perceive with the sunlight trying to sneak its way into his corneas. The pounding in his head, though, was the waking call he needed. He wasn't going to be able to stay in bed for very long without getting some kind of aspirin and vitamin C in his body sometime soon. 

Still not daring to open his eyes, he let one hand drop to the floor next to his bed, and felt for a piece of clothing, anything that would at least cover some part of him. He pulled on the same boxers he wore the day before, and threw on the bathrobe he did not expect to be there. His legs struggled to find the floor, and even more so to lift up and hold his weight. His stomach protested against every movement he made, heaving and gargling at each stumbling step he took. The bathroom seemed like a very good idea, and his mind rerouted towards it slowly, falteringly. Eyes still fearing the effect the sunlight would have on his migraine, he smacked into a wall. A wall he was sure was not supposed to be there.

“Jarvis?!” he called out in panic, snapping his eyes open and immediately regretting that decision. “What in the world...? Where the hell am I?!” No answer came from his AI, and a cursory glance around the luxurious suite he was in was more than enough to remind him he was a long way from his Malibu home. 

The past days were a mess of information in his mind. It was no small wonder he had decided to refuge himself on the other side of the world, Rome, Italy, to try and sort out everything he had gone through. Instead of acting as a conscientious adult would (contacting a psychologist, talking it out, or at least having a moan to Pepper), he lashed out. He had taken his private jet, flown straight to Ciampino airport and rented the presidential suite in Hotel Splendide, with a terrace overlooking the Eternal City, for the week. Three days out of seven had gone by and he had yet to take a walk in the Villa Borghese park, just behind his hotel. He had spent them all in an inebriated haze, having drunk bottle upon bottle of the best scotch, bourbon and wine the hotel had to offer. 

Eventually remembering where the bathroom was, he immediately popped three Tylenols in his mouth and swallowed them down with the aid of the last gulp of a Yamazaki 1984 whisky bottle he had knocked down the night before. “Hair of the dog,” he thought to himself, knowing that if Pepper saw him at it, she would have an attack. And then he remembered the days before he arrived in Rome, and wished there was more of that Yamazaki. 

It had been a roller coaster of a life and Tony Stark knew it. That being the case, why did he only begin an official break-down after the Avengers had first “assembled”? He grew up with a father who barely ever saw him, and thus tried to impress him by being a hard-working student. Having been accepted at MIT at the age of 15 still didn't suffice, and he began to realize that not much would work to make a dent on his relationship with Howard A. Stark, at least not while Steve Rogers was still considered MIA. Not even his mother, Maria, caring and warm as she was, managed to compensate for the fatherly love he longed for. She barely managed to stay married to the alcoholic bastard, but divorce is something that she just wouldn't consider, not with Tony still a child. When she finally could up and leave Stark senior, the accident took place, and Tony was left with no one but Obadiah Stane. Yet after years of looking up to his mentor and sole father-figure, the awful truth came out and left Stark with shards pushing their way towards his heart. 

Looking at his biography through the persistent gloom alcohol consumption had put him in, all Anthony E. Stark could see was an absent father, a weak mother and a traitor standing in as best friend and mentor. No wonder he had ended up where he was, he should even be worse for the wear. And now he didn't even have Pepper anymore.

Oh, God. Pepper. Miss Potts was the only one who had stuck by him through all of it, and had barely batted an eye at anything. Not even coming back from Afghanistan with an Arc reactor implanted in the middle of his chest was enough to get her to faint. She simply asked him to go to the hospital, and when he refused, went for a cheeseburger and ordered a press conference for him. And now... Well, now they had to cope. Everything seemed to be going great after the attack. They were planning the reconstructions to be done to Stark Tower in New York, but the emptiness inside him had started to devour the good feelings, and let the dark ones take over. He began to realize that no matter how hard he, or they, fought, no matter how many villains they triumphed over, others would always take their place.

How many would still have to suffer? He had barely come to terms with Dr. Yinsen's sacrifice, and he had had to kill Obadiah. Though Ivan Vanko's death can hardly be cried over, it was still at his hands, and it could have been handled differently. And finally, Agent Coulson. Phil... And so many other deaths, be it at their hands, accidentally, or even villain deaths. None of them could be excused. Death is inexcusable, he'd finally arrived to that conclusion, and yet he was once its merchant. 

This sudden clarity had driven him away from Pepper, not being able to face her anymore without being reminded of his whole history. As it was easy enough to turn away from her, he realized that he didn't really love her at least not in the way people are supposed to love. He cared a great deal for her, and trusted her not only with his company's future but with his life. He knew that though Natasha Romanoff was a trained agent, if anything happened to him, Pepper was the one he should call. She would not rest until she was sure Tony was well taken care of. Yet this was also the limit to her love, and he knew it just as well as she did. They had come together through consequence: she barely ever managed to go out on non-Stark business, and he, more often than not, was locked away with his research. It seemed natural that they would end up together, but not for the right reasons. Not for romantic love. 

Tony stared at himself in the mirror after drinking down a liter of tap water. A few drops rolled down his chin and dropped silently on to the Arc reactor, discreetly humming a gentle tune. It was a sound you got used to, that you cancelled out just like we do with our heart beats. He tapped it gently, wondering what to do now. Having sobered up after three days of non-stop drinking, his organism craved sodium and vitamins, and real rest. The engineer decided to take a long bath, hoping his stomach would cope with the heat, to try and soak out the remnants of alcohol from his pores. Once in the warm water, he began cracking his joints slowly and languorously, trying to make the most of his situation. He did not want to think of what was going to happen once he got back and had to face the team, and he'd purposefully turned off every electronic device he had that Jarvis could use to contact him. It felt good to be unreachable for once in his life.

\----------

“I will not tolerate being spoken to in this manner,” Odin rumbled dangerously low. If people found him intimidating when he screamed, when he used this resounding voice he became ten times as macabre. When he had banished Thor a while earlier, he had been heart-broken more than angry, but this time it was different. He did not know how to handle his emotions, there were so many of them. Frigga, his wife, hesitated and hovered behind the odd party before deciding it was high time she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder to calm him down. 

There had been three days of Loki being secluded in his chambers, guarded by no less than ten of Asgard's finest soldiers and tongue of silver weighed down in his mouth. After his older and significantly larger brother had unraveled everything that had occurred on Midgard to their father, Odin had taken to his throne for the period his younger child was kept in chains, and tolerated no one in his presence, not even his trusted wife. 

“And I am no longer a child, do not dare treat me as such!” Loki answered, his voice taking on the same quality as his adoptive father's, but more of a hiss than a rumble and carrying promises of threats. “I am put here before you, forced to kneel, taking responsibilities for my actions. By Valhalla, I stand by them, All-Father!”

“You would have slaughtered a planet and its population for power, my son? Who would you rule over? Rocks and ashes?”

“I had plans,” he spat back. “And am in no way forced to reveal them to you. I am here to pay for my past actions, and will not try to squirm my way out of punishment. You know quite well squirming is not one of my specialties. So get on with your divine judgment, Odin, I await and welcome it.”

Thor's eyes were filled with distant sadness at his brother's words. He exchanged a glance with his mother, both of them knowing how Odin's heart broke into infinitely tinier pieces each time Loki refused to call him father. The numerous centuries of family history seemed to have vanished for him the minute the truth was revealed. No longer did he think of him and Thor as children, wrecking havoc in the halls of Odin's palace, or of them as teenagers competing for young maidens' attentions. They had battled together, saved each other's lives countless times before and yet it had all been erased in a small moment of insignificant truth. His genealogy has nothing to do with who he was. Though son of Laufey by blood, everything he said and did echoed his father by heart, Odin.

“Loki Odinso-,” Odin was interrupted by a sound of derision. “Laufeyson...” Odin's voice trembled. “For the heinous crimes you have committed against the realms of Midgard, Asgard and Jotunheim, it rests upon me the duty to sentence you to imprisonment, bound by vines of poison that shall cut into your body, and this until Ragnarok ends the worlds as we know them. What you have done is unforgivable, and you will not be known for the valor you used to show. Tales will only be told of your mischief and fierce disregard for love and all that is good.”

Frigga cried out in earnest pain, and Thor's shout of protest trembled the skies, a fleeting lightning crossing the starry veil for a split second. Odin motioned for their silence with a commanding gesture, daring them to cross him in this moment of judgement.

“However,” he continued menacingly, his voice barely there. “Considering your royal lineage not only by blood but by honor, I think it wise to give you an opportunity. If your brother was given a chance to redeem himself, why shouldn't you be given the same? Thus, I deprive you from your powers and banish you from this kingdom. You are fated to walk upon Midgard, amongst those who you tried to command. Until you have learned true humility and the value of life, you shall not be welcomed to Asgard or to any other of the Nine Realms.” Mimicking the same gestures that had banished his older son a small time before, Odin proceeded to clawing Loki's helmet off his head and ripping his cape off his shoulders. “Count yourself as very fortunate, my son, for I am leaving you in the hands of your brother, Thor. He will be there to guide you in this quest for your inner sanity, and he has come out of the same quest a better man, warrior and prince. As will you.”

Finishing his speech, Odin turned on his heel, cape and hair whipping out behind him, and sped out of the room. His wife followed him closely, stopping only to kiss each of her sons on the forehead. This proved a difficult act to accomplish on Loki, but Frigga was his only true weak spot, and after struggling for reputation's sake, he allowed her kiss to land on his skin. 

“Come, brother,” Thor landed a heavy hand on his smaller brother, only to have it brushed aside. The look in the raven-haired god's eyes reflected the madness within, a red and constant glow emanating from the deep emerald green. The effect was hypnotizing, amber and emerald not quite agreeing one with the other, yet somehow completing. The colossal blonde wasn't quite sure if he should look away or meet the stare head on, but decided that this was not the moment to be shy with his own kin. He grabbed him by the shoulders, and steered him purposefully towards the destroyed Bifrost. There they were to meet with Heimdall, with whom the Tesseract was now kept and who would be able to send them both back to Midgard. 

Loki's body now empty of its magic, he seemed surprisingly small and pliant. This was all Thor could think silently to himself, worrying how he could possibly explain this new situation to the mortals. 

\----------

He had been in his perfectly pulled bath for all of twenty minutes when the phone in his room began to ring. Sighing and wrapping his bathrobe around his dripping body, Stark walked as slowly as possible to the other side of the room, hoping whoever it was on the other side of the connection would decide he was out visiting the Pantheon or having a private tour of the Coliseum and would give up. In any case, it was most likely the concierge, asking if he needed any more bottles of Brunello di Montalcino for the day so he didn't need to hurry.

Yet the phone didn't give up its incessant buzzing, and the dark-haired man finally picked up the receiver whilst scratching gently at his beard. He answered deliberately, “Pronto?” 

“You better get yourself back to New York as soon as you put the receiver down, Stark. Three days? You really thought you could disappear from the world? We're S.H.I.E.L.D., Stark, we can track you down. I always have my eye on you,” came Nick Fury's baritone voice in a dangerously controlled tone. The engineer sighed again, a sound his lungs seemed to exhume in their normal state that day. “Your jet is ready at the airport, and there's a car waiting just outside the lobby. You know there'll be agents in your suite in thirty minutes, so I suggest you get a move on, golden boy. There are some serious developments on our end and we need the whole team together.”

“What's going on, Fury?” Tony asked, mildly interested as his teammate's voice became slightly desperate once he mentioned new events occurring. 

“He's back, Stark. Loki's back.”


	2. When Angels and Fiends Collide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovelies,  
> I cannot tell you how amazed I was at the response I got to the first chapter of the story, or maybe I'm just not used to Fanfiction world anymore. In any case, I'm extremely happy so many of you are looking forward to where I go with this thing.  
> Let's make it clear that even I'm not 100% sure of what it shall become, but I do have a few pages fluttering across my apartment full of ideas, and voice notes on my phone of other ideas that came to me whilst walking around town (yeah, I do that...).   
> I hope you'll all enjoy where this chapter goes to. I know I'm quite a slow backdrop painter, but as said before, I prefer it this way. Any constructive criticism is more than welcome.
> 
> For any notes you'd like to drop, you can also find me on Tumblr:  
> modernanglophilia. tumblr. com/

The intensity in the room would be off the charts, if there had been any way to measure it. Natasha was quite sure Dr Banner was trying to find a way to do so while he scratched away at an invisible sore on his arm. She crossed her arms under her bosom and stared straight ahead, straight into Barton's eyes. The blue, usually calm, had turned into a storm of worry, and she could almost hear the thundering happening inside his mind. Ironic, seeing as streaks of lightning had started painting the skies outside. Bruce almost fell off his chair when the cerulean energy wave of the Tesseract slapped them all across the face.

Nick Fury was the first one in action, gun in hand and unwavering aim straight into Loki's heart. Natasha and Barton both followed suit, Rogers setting up his hands in a boxing stance. All Banner could do was stand straight and try to suppress the instinct to pick up a gamma-ray spectrometer. The silence in the room was ominous as the two siblings appeared in front of them.

“Lay down your arms, friends,” came Thor's booming voice. “He has no power and cannot do you harm. I am glad my father's crows relayed their message well!” Natasha's eyes narrowed, thinking they should have agreed on a safe word in case one of them was ever in a trap. “I assure you, he is harmless. Look at him.” The blonde god slapped forcefully his brother's shoulder who, in turn, fell to the floor.

“You dare humiliate me this way, brother?” Loki hissed out the last word. “I may be without power, but that does not mean I am not capable of harming you in other ways. See that you watch your manners.” His empty threat fell on empty ears. He knew he could do no harm to his brother or to anyone else in this room in his current human form.

Bruce was the first to trigger what was happening. He stepped forward, reaching out a hand to the god of mischief before he even realized his gestures. Loki snorted, lifting an eyebrow at the scientist, and stood up by his own means. Banner's arm snapped back in place as if someone had stung it. He looked around the room and caught Rogers' eyes, who gave him a nod of reassurance, implicitly approving what he had done.

“So how are we doing this, then?” Fury began. “Do we get to judge him down here for what he's done?”

“Absolutely not, human,” Loki muttered. Thor stared him down, making his gaze fall to the floor, a black curtain of hair shading his face.

“His sentence has been cast by our father, sire. There can be no higher sentence than that of Odin, the All-Father. Everything he does is with a purpose, and I believe you should trust him, and us.” He looked around the room. “All of you, friends, should have faith. It is my strong belief that with all of us, we can yet make my brother see the light.”

“What exactly is his sentence, though?” Barton spoke out, left arm holding his bow loosely by his side, still ready to attack at a moment's notice. “I mean, are we his punishment or what?”

“He has been stripped of his magic, and he shall not be able to call upon it until he values life again.”

“Well, that's ridiculously vague. Do you always use riddles up in Asgard? Couldn't just stick him in the slammer for a few good centuries or something?”

“We do not believe in the same sort of punishment as you. We believe punishment should serve a purpose, instruct us in the ways we have erred. Banishment changed my life before, and it will do the same with Loki, I am sure of it.”

“And what, we get to be his babysitter?” came a tired voice from the door. Tony leaned against the metal frame of it, letting the cold seep through his blue shirt. He carried his Mark V travel armor in one hand, and stared straight into Loki's lowered eyes. “Big poppa knows he's punishing us at the same time, right? What if we don't want him either?”

“Watch your tongue, mortal,” the golden god's voice made the walls tremble. “You will not address my father as such, and shall follow proper etiquette when speaking to any of us in this chamber.”

“Hit a nerve there haven't I? I apologize, Point Break, but this is something we need to talk through. Nick, you're the puppet master over here, right? Hit it!”

“As a matter of fact, yeah. Let's get this figured out, Thor. We can't have random gods running around Earth and planning to destroy it.”

Each one took to a chair, Loki taking the one furthest in the corner. He continued to hide his eyes, the shame and horror at his fate astonishingly obvious for someone of his status. Everyone present took note at how he seemed so much smaller than the last time they had seen him, a few days back. His eyes were sunken down, lips even thinner, cheekbones prominent. He looked sickly, the lack of magic seemed to be suffocating him. 

If the god of mischief seemed tired, the Avengers didn't care very much. It was the sight of Stark that worried them all instantly. Even Steve, who didn't much care for the playboy, bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from asking where he had been, and what had happened. Tony sat down on his chair, the one furthest from the coal-haired god, leaned in with both elbows on his knees, and began tapping the Arc reactor. He was silent, and that was the worst symptom of whatever was ailing him. Bruce fixed his stare on the engineer, until Tony met it and shook his head, brushing off any and every question. For the little amount of time they had known each other, an odd type of bond had established between them, Tony letting only Bruce see the depth of pain in his eyes. All the others he decided to meet head first, with a signature smile on his tight lips.

“What? Never seen a guy hung-over after three days of drinking?” he smirked at them. The effort to seem casual was harder than a three-hour workout in the suit. Worse than a three-hour workout in Mark I, to be exact, that bulky piece of equipment he'd left in Afghan sands. He shuddered thinking about that experience and tried to block out the images of the cave from his mind. The conversation continued around him. It took all of the strength he'd tried to build up on the flight over to listen to it.

“No, I'm sorry, Nick, I just can't accept that,” he listened as Natasha debated fervently. “The fact that we're all adults with our own lives not withstanding, what makes you think we'd agree to 'temporarily' live together because of this circus act?” She lifted her hands in an act of frustration, implicitly motioning towards the gods sitting together when she said her final words.

“I agree with 'Tasha,” Clint's voice was emphatic. “Same,” came Bruce's shy voice. Everyone turned towards either Steve or Tony, the unofficial heads of the Avengers. 

The tall blonde sighed, a fleeting hand going through his golden locks. “I don't really see what other option we'd have, guys,” he whispered. “We can't just leave him unguarded, have his own apartment somewhere in the world. How would we know if he's up to no good?” A sound of exasperation came from Loki.

“I hardly see what threat I could possibly pose you now, in this pathetic mortal shape.” He spoke into his hands, muffling what sounded like a tone of desperation. He didn't seem to be addressing them, but had accidentally turned his inner monologue into a running commentary. Everyone turned towards him, the sound of chairs creaking or swiveling capturing his attention. He lifted his head and watched them all closely. “You have villainous minds planning world domination, weapons that surpass my godly imagination, and you chose to waste your time 'babysitting' me, as the arrogant scientist so aptly expressed? Perhaps you should look closely at yourselves and the threats each of you pose individually to this world.”

Banner looked ashamed and averted his eyes, thinking back to every moment he'd ever lost control of the monster within him. Natasha tried not to remember the blood red spots that filled her records as Clint squeezed her arm gently. The Captain tried not to think of Peggy as the sound of Bucky's yell filled up his mind until it was all he could hear. Colonel Fury was the only one who seemed unaffected by the god's speech, but it was Tony who began to speak first.

“I think I speak for all of us when I say that this situation is a pain in the ass. I have my own business to attend to and yes, a few battles of my own to fight. The problem is we can't just ignore this and send you to some evil villain retirement home, though that is something I should consider investing in. The Avengers' tower not yet being rebuilt, we have no other option than using my house in Malibu, the only one big enough for all of us to have our own rooms, and with a panic room to put you in.”

“But Tony...” Banner begin, but a slight motion of Stark's hand interrupted him.

“I mean it, Bruce,” he sighed. “I think I might be the one who hates this situation the most. I've been bunking alone for the past... Well, no, I won't be revealing my age, but let's say for quite a while, and turning my recently rebuilt house into a dorm for eccentrics isn't really in my bucket list. Well, it was, but not like this. We all have our own things to do, so we'll rarely be all together in the house at the same time. This is the only way to make sure that at least one of us has an eye on Loki at any given moment. Call it a temporary hotel for tired super heroes, where we rest when we're off work.”

“Sounds like more work to me,” muttered Barton. Fury gave him a surprisingly intense one-eyed glare.

“Well, Stark, I think I speak for all of us when I say how surprised I am at your level head. No idea what fried your brain when you were in Rome, but it did you good,” Fury stood up. Tony's jaw locked at the comment, and he spoke coldly as he stood up. 

“So it's settled. I'll be flying home in my suit,” he put the Mark V briefcase on the floor in front on him, pushed the center of it with his foot and engaged his arms in the gauntlets waiting for him. As he pulled and stretched and waited for the suit to envelop him, he continued, “My jet is at La Guardia. I'll give Happy a call on my flight over, he'll have it ready for all of you in two hours.” He gave Bruce one last nod and lowered the helmet, walking casually out of the room.

“You can say what you want about it, Cap'n,” Clint grinned. “But that suit's got swagger.” This earned him another glare from Fury, and he quickly shut up.

\----------

Tony paced impatiently in his living room, going up the steps that led to his grand piano, then down again and sitting in front of the fireplace, standing up and running his fingers in the glass wall fountain that enveloped his staircase. His house had always been too comically large for him to live in it by himself, but his megalomania knew no bounds. At least it didn't a week back. He wasn't so sure about it now. 

“Jarvis, status,” he called out.

“Sir, the plane landed two minutes ago with Miss Romanoff, Messrs. Barton, Rogers, Banner and gods Thor and Loki on-board. Colonel Fury left a message with Mr Hogan, saying he has to stay at S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters and debrief the council about this new situation. Have you planned the sleeping arrangements, sir?”

“Uh... Yes.” He picked up one of his tablets, pulling out a hologram of the house's blueprints. “Three empty bedrooms downstairs can go to Agents Romanoff and Barton and Captain Stars and Stripes. Make sure to assign Natasha the best one, next to the training room, with the view over the cliff. Dr Banner, Thor, and Rudolph can stay upstairs. Bruce should also have a view of the ocean, let's make it as soothing on possible on Mr Hyde, huh? Just make sure Loki's room is the furthest away from mine as possible.” He winced, remembering being thrown out of Stark tower by the god. “The one without panoramic windows,” he added as an after-thought. 

“And the lab, sir? Shall I emit security passes?”

“Only for Dr Banner, Jarvis. The others only with express permission from yours truly.”

“Shall I contact the house-cleaning service? Things risk being messier than usual.”

Tony snorted at his AI, wondering how he had made it so cheeky over the years. “Sure. And get a cook, the one who catered the party last year, to be on call. Might as well be a good host, if not a particularly willing one. Oh, and Jarvis... Get Miss Potts on the line, would you?”

The AI went silent for a while, then Pepper's voice resounded through the room. “Tony? Is that you? Where have you been? I tried calling every single one of your numbers!”

“Shh, Pepper, c'mon, of course it's me. You know I can't stay away for too long. I'm in an odd situation, I don't think you should come by the house any time soon.”

“What's going on, Tony?”

He scratched gently at his goatee, wondering how to explain the situation, “Listen, Loki's back on Earth, he's kind of on... parole, I guess we could call it. He has to be a good boy, or he'll be grounded for a very long time. The Avengers are all staying at my house here in Malibu, not that I'm ecstatic about it.”

“He's... You're... what?!” her line went silent, and Jarvis' voice started. “Sir, Miss Potts' line has disconnected. I believe she might be planning to come over to check up on you.”

Tony sighed, banging his head gently on the glass. “Of course she is. She doesn't listen, never has.” He went to the bar, served himself a full glass of scotch and sat down on the couch, pulling a white fur cushion onto his lap. The rest of the team would soon be there, and he wanted to appreciate the last few minutes of solitude he would have for what he thought would be a very long time.

\----------

“Ah, man of iron, your home is truly glorious!” came Thor's voice from the entrance. “Almost worthy of Asgardian beauty!”

Tony stepped aside, making away for the odd procession of gods, agents and eccentrics to make their way into his personal haven. Each one had their own way of greeting him, or thanking him for opening his home to them. Thor gave him a thunderous clap to the shoulder, making him buckle his knees while Loki looked down at him from his aquiline features and nodded silently. He seemed to be recognizing the stupendous effort it took for Stark to put himself together in such a short amount of time, even though no emotions crossed his face. The simple fact he had made himself look into the engineer's eyes was proof enough of his acknowledgment. The god of chaos' burning stare took Tony by surprise, and he found himself having to shake his head to bring him back to his senses. 

Banner went by next, taking Tony's hand and giving him an awkward one-armed hug. Natasha and Clint both clasped hands with him, as did Steve. However, the Captain held on tight to Tony and brought his lips close to his ears. “You're a good man, Mr Stark. You're doing the right thing.” The dark-haired man straightened himself up, clearing his throat, and nodded. Two surprises in barely a minute. Things were going to be very odd for a while. 

It took all of fifteen minutes to show each one of his guests to their rooms, with Jarvis' help in demonstrating how to work the internal AI and how to contact each other inside the house. The tension inside those walls was tangible, to the point where one could smell it. “This must be killing Bruce's nerves,” Tony muttered to himself, making a mental note to show him the lab as soon as they were all settled. Used to lounging in one of his living rooms or on the terrace when he felt on edge, Stark felt oddly trapped inside his own room. Though expertly decorated with designer interior, no personal touches had ever been made. Tony wasn't the kind of man to personalize, unless it was something of particular interest to him. Being pragmatic to the point of stubbornness, he did not consider a house a place of enough emotional attachment to actually put in any effort of making it a “home”. Shuddering at the thought, he stared intently through the panoramic windows while serving himself another scotch. 

“Another one, Mr Stark?” came a soft voice from behind him. He instantly dropped the glass and rose a hand to his arc reactor, feeling his heart pump blood unusually fast to the rest of his organs. While gathering the shards and his nerves from the floor, he looked up to see a god at his door. The slender figure was covered by black pants and a green shirt, matching his usual armor.

“What's up, Loki? Still want that drink?” he asked, more confident than he looked.

“I apologize, I did not mean to frighten you.” He moved his way expertly next to Stark on the floor, and begin helping to clean up the mess.

“No, really, what gives? You're being too nice and quiet for someone who stood by his narcissistic actions in god court or whatever.”

“Let's just say I know that in this house, I am now the weakest link. It serves me no purpose to be impolite. My adoptive mother always insisted that civility was the best course of action.”

“She must be so proud of her baby, then,” Tony muttered.

Loki stood up slowly, picked up two new glasses and served them both a generous amount of scotch. “I wonder what kind of effect alcohol will have on this body. When I was a god, it took quite a few doses for there to be any outcome at all.”

Tony chuckled darkly, “We should have some kind of competition, then. I've a bit of training from back in the day.” The ex-god looked at him sadly. The engineer suddenly heard his words from someone else's perspective and realized what they implied. The sorrow of the days before threatened to envelop him again, the despair, the doubts. He was thankful when Jarvis' chipper voice alerted him of Pepper's presence in the house, and he quickly exited the room, leaving the dark-haired god with puzzled thoughts.

“Where is he?!” Pepper's high-pitched and hysterical voice resonated in the entire house. “Where is that thieving, murderous bastard?”

“Did you drive like this, Pep?” Tony asked, coming down the stairs closely followed by Loki. “Should have asked-” he was interrupted by her running up the stairs, no small feat considering the heels she wore, and a sharp slap. He automatically put a hand to his face, but felt no heat. Rotating on himself, he looked behind him to see Loki holding a hand to a quickly reddening cheek and Pepper ready to attack him again.


	3. When Angels Succumb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update! Again? Yes, again!
> 
> As I mentioned yesterday, I sat on the 2nd chapter for quite a few days before posting it, and I was working on the 3rd chapter at the same time. Might as well get it over and done with.
> 
> Can I just say again how happy I am at the responses I've been getting with this fiction? You are all truly lovely for R&R'ing, or leaving kudos. Thank you so much.
> 
> If you'd like to ask anything, you can always find me on my Tumblr:  
> modernanglophilia. tumblr. com/

“Pepper, stop it,” Stark sighed tiredly, picking her up effortlessly and taking her back down the stairs. She struggled and screamed at him.

“Are you kidding me, Tony? He murdered Phil and you just let him stroll into your house like this? How many others has he killed? What's the matter with you?!” she had begun to sob uncontrollably, half yelling at Stark, and half at Loki. The god's jaw was tense, murder screaming in his eyes and muscles ready to pounce. Yet a sharp look from Stark was enough to remind him of his weak human form, and the ease with which the man had just picked up a hysterical Pepper warned him against trying anything rash. He bit down on the inside of his cheeks to stop the curses from coming and sauntered up the stairs in a manner that only royalty could manage.

Thankful to Loki's abilities of self-control, Tony looked down at Pepper with eyes that showed the anguish he was going through, and waited for her to calm down. Guiding her to the couch and propping her feet up, he returned with a cup of water filled with sugar. “I just... Why is he here, Tony?” When she finally lifted her eyes, she noticed an audience had formed around her, sitting on different spots on the couch or chairs spread across the room. They were all there, except for Loki.

Steve sat closest to her, and took one of her hands in both of his, massaging it soothingly. “It's his punishment, Miss Potts. He can't do any of us any harm, he has no more powers. He might as well be the tallest adolescent boy you've ever seen,” he gave her a soft smile. “His father took all of his power away as punishment and has sent him here on Earth on a... spiritual journey, of sorts.”

“Oh, wow, that's what I call punishment,” she snorted. “Living in a billionaire's mansion with a troupe of super heroes to take care of you. Sounds awful! Poor baby!” Clint tried to hide the laugh that made its way up his lungs. “He should be judged in the International Criminal Court for crimes against humanity. Send him to Holland, for God's sake. I don't want that murderer anywhere near me.”

Thor stood up and made his way towards her. “My lady, I understand that you grieve your friend's loss, yet I insist that you must be understanding in this occurrence. He can do you no harm, and we will see to it that all is kept as such.”

“What's the catch?” she asked, looking directly into Tony's eyes, holding on tight to Steve's hands for reassurance.

“Once he learns to behave, he gets his power back.” There was no way to tiptoe around it.

“And you're okay with this? This... bastard who killed Phil is going to live in your house, and you're going to feed him and be okay with it?” Stark set his jaw to its most determined and nodded, swallowing down the guilt that formed in the back of his throat. “I want nothing to do with this madhouse, Tony. Nothing. I'll call you if there's any Stark business I need you to see to, but I won't be coming here anymore. Not until he's gone.” Pepper made a concentrated effort not to say anything else and to get to her feet. Steve walked her to the door keeping her steady. “Call me if you need anything, all of you. Even if it's just to get out of this... circus act.”

Natasha smirked, “My exact words.”

“Would you like me to escort you home, Miss Potts?” Steve asked gently. She smiled feebly at him but shook her head.

“I'll be fine. I'll drive with the windows down to slap some life back in my cheeks.” The Captain didn't need any wind to do that, Pepper's gentle kiss was sufficient. Tony stared after her, continuing even after the door was closed and the rest of the team had gone to their respective activities. Unconsciously, he heard Steve, Natasha and Clint argue over if they really were doing the right thing. Bruce had probably gone into hiding in his room again, doing some kind of yoga or meditation. That's what Tony needed at the moment. Meditation.

He climbed the flight of stairs to his room and locked the door behind him. It was barely eight in the evening and yet he felt like he'd climbed Mount Everest during that day. Between the trip back from Italy, Loki's acknowledgement and civility and Pepper's meltdown he had had enough of drama for an entire year. “Let's meditate, then, shall we?” he murmured. He opened the flask of scotch he had taken out earlier, and with the fumes of alcohol came the whispers of everything he feared. Yet he welcomed it, and took swig after swig of the bitter drink. What would Coulson think of what he was doing? Swig. Would he be forgiven? Swallow. Could Loki ever change? Swig. Was he trapped in this situation forever? Swallow. He slowly picked up a rhythm, finishing the bottle in thirty minutes flat. Yet he opened another and began the same ritual. When the alcohol content in his blood reached a point that conflicted with his brain synapses, his eyelids simply gave up, as did his strength and his will. He gave over to sleep gladly, and being home never seemed better. Until the dreams came.

At first it was simple. He walked through a meadow, and admired at how wonderfully clean the world could be at times. From a distance, a tall man approached him, hesitantly at first, but finally racing into his arms. He recognized the black hair, emerald eyes, but in that instant the god transformed into a black coyote, viridian irises shining in the darkness of its fur. It lunged for the vein in his throat, but just before sinking in his teeth morphed into a fox, tiny compared to its predecessor, and fell into Tony's arms. He petted the warm fur, hearing the fox's gentle breathing. The small animal played tame for a while but finally sauntered out of his grasp and ran towards the other side of the meadow. How odd, though, the grass was red and the flowers were golden. He'd have expected things to be quite the contrary... However, these thoughts were fleeting, and he was getting tired of running, his legs giving way. At that moment, the fox stopped, and jumped back in his arms, snarling at a creature a few meters away from them. A colossal black lion lifted itself from its lying position onto its hindquarters, expression impassive, waiting and watching...

“Stark!” somebody bellowed into his ears. 

“What the flying fuck...?!” Tony lifted himself quickly out of bed. His body swiftly reacted against this sudden movement, his head spinning and the lights twinkling in and out of focus. His stomach heaved against the gigantic quantity of alcohol it had consumed, as opposed to very little sustenance. Noticing his state of bodily stress, Thor instantly lifted him up and carried him to the bathroom, where Stark emptied his body of even its bile. Throat burning, stomach cramping, head thumping, heart aching. The same strong arms threw him into the shower and turned the cold water on, a strong jet hitting his back and waking him up further. The tears in his eyes were due to the heaving, he told himself. There's nothing wrong with me, he repeated in his mind. He let the water sooth his aching body, rinse away some of the guilt and pain away with the alcohol, numb the stabbing that wouldn't stop in his heart. The shivering and bobbing of his chest, those weren't the proof of his crying, they were just his body reacting to the alcohol, and the throbbing in his brain had nothing to do with guilt, it was just the consequent dehydration after two bottles of whisky. 

“Mr Stark?” came a soft voice from somewhere over his head. He lifted his eyes to fiery red hair englobing a soft and feminine face. He was surprised by the anxiousness he found in the eyes, eyes that usually expressed nothing or, at the most, caution and, at its worst, annoyance. “Come here, Tony.” She picked up one of his hands from its awkward position against the bathtub and helped him to his feet, wrapping a soft towel around him as she guided their way towards his bed. She left him in Bruce's care, wiping his wet hair from his forehead and leaving a gentle peck of her lips against his skin. Though odd, the gesture was strangely soothing to him, evoking memories of his mother, Maria. 

“Hey,” the scientist's hesitant voice spoke from somewhere over him. He felt stable fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt and sliding off the cold cloth from his body. “I'm sorry, but if I don't do this, you're going to catch a cold.”

“I'll be fine, Banner,” Tony turned onto his side, rendering Bruce's access to his shirt impossible. “I'm not a child, don't treat me like one.” Taking the towel from under his body, he began the process of wiping himself down and putting up his mask, in case there were any other unexpected visitors in his room he hadn't seen yet. He felt his fellow scientist's weight lift off the bed with a small grunting noise. “I'm hung over, 's all.”

“Yeah, hard not to notice, buddy,” Bruce replied. They were alone after all. “Look, after you've chugged down some water and a pill or two, why don't you show me your lab? Jarvis told me I have access to it, but it feels weird to go in there for the first time without you to show me the ropes.”

Tony's head felt like it was made of lead for all the effort it took for him to nod. His muscles might as well have been paralyzed for all the pain it took for him to grin. 'Easy smile my ass,' he thought to himself. “Yeah, just let me get changed. The god of thunder isn't exactly the god of subtlety.” 

“Well, no news there. Dr Selvig told me about his first days on Earth... At least you won't have to replace all your good china now he's understood that part of,” he air quoted, “'Midgardian etiquette'.”

Stark was surprised to hear a chuff of laughter escape his lungs of its own accord, and looked around at Bruce wearing a partially surprised and partially amused expression. This made the other scientist laugh in turn and give him a bob of the head while closing the door behind him. If something good was to come out of this new sleeping arrangement going on in his mansion, then let it be a new friendship with someone capable of matching his wit. 

While he finished getting dressed, an imperious knock sounded at his door, followed by its opening a second later, though he hadn't yet given an answer. Shocked, Stark quickly pulled on a t-shirt, thankful he had already put on boxers. 

“Oh, how thoughtless of me,” Loki's dangerous voice made a chill run down Tony's spine. “I forget Midgardians are quite prudish. I beg your pardon, Mr Stark.” His eyes lingered for a second on the engineer's muscular legs while he pulled on sweatpants. 

“Sure thing, Loki. You doing ok? Need anything?” The effort to not reach out and throw a punch in the middle of the god's smug face was phenomenal. 

“Thor mentioned you were distressed physically, something seemed to be ailing you. Are you aware it is already past the fifth hour of the afternoon?”

“It's what?!” Tony jumped over his bed to pick up a tablet. “Oh, Jarvis, dear!”

“Good afternoon, sir, how may I be of assistance?” the AI seemed, though impossible, pleased as punch with himself. Tony wondered how good a job he had done with the programing and if development of consciousness might actually be possible. 

“Whatever happened to my wake-up call?”

“Sir, it wasn't for lack of trying, I assure you. After the fifth wake-up call at 13.00, I have no further instructions of what to do.”

Loki arched an eyebrow at the exchange between human and machine, looking strangely fascinated. “Midgard is truly a place of wonders, Mr Stark.”

Tony looked back around at him, as if surprised to see he was still standing in the middle of the room. “And yet you'd have destroyed it. Funny how things go, huh?”

“Whoever spoke of destroying, my dear mortal? May I bring to your attention the fact that had I wanted to destroy Midgard, it would have been done.” He stretched out his arms over his head, making his back crack. The fabric of his shirt slid softly over his skin, exposing such a thin frame that Stark was sure he hadn't eaten in weeks. 

“Whatever you say, love. In any case, do you need anything? I know you're probably short on clothing as you didn't exactly pack a suitcase.”

“No need, I thank you. Thor has already seen to that as _his_ powers haven't been affected.” Tony made a mental note on how much the tone of his voice changed when speaking of his older brother. “Though I do find myself quite bored and as I am, in all but name, under captivity, I wondered if you might have some tomes I could leaf through.”

“You can ask Jarvis to download anything you want to one of the tablets.” The trickster furrowed his brows, trying to make sense of what had just been said. The expression on someone who usually looked regal made Tony burst with laughter.

“I'll ask my brother then, shall I?” Pride hurt, Loki turned on his heels and made for the door. Tony's hand grabbed his shoulder gently.

“Sorry, sorry. I keep forgetting you're not in touch with technology. Personally, I haven't bought a physical book ever since I installed Jarvis in this house, but if it's easier for you, there's a bookshelf downstairs, next to the dining room. Not very up-to-date, but you'll probably find something interesting there.”

“Thank you, Mr Stark,” the god shook off his hand from his shoulder and walked away. The inventor kept staring after him, a small grin creeping onto his lips. 'What a diva,' he thought not unkindly. As soon as those words were in his head, a darkness growled from another corner of his mind, daring him to keep being tenderhearted towards the god. 'He brought war on earth, killed hundreds and threw you out of a window. Continue warming-up to him and you'll see where that gets you, Stark.' He shook his head, feeling his brain bounce around his skull due to its dehydration. He all but ran to the bathroom to swallow down water and pills. One hand came up to tap the arc reactor as he stared at himself in the mirror, wondering how close to an alcoholic coma he had been this time. He had to do something about this drinking, at least while there were other people living under his roof. Appearances needed to be kept and he was already considered difficult as it was.

Walking towards Bruce's door, he tossed his hair out of his eyes for once not caring how it looked. He knocked gently, hoping he wasn't disturbing. “Bruce? Want to go see the lab?” He heard steps coming towards the door, saw feet block the light from exiting the gap between the door and the floor then it squeaked open.

“Hey. Feeling better?” Bruce smiled. 

“As good as possible, all things considered.” Tony guided their way to the elevator which would take them the two floors down to the lab without having to cross the living room. He was hoping to delay as much as possible the encounter with the rest of the Avengers, knowing full well he'd have to explain what had happened. 

Once the elevator doors slid open, he punched in his code and opened the white-tinted glass doors to his lab. He heard Bruce's sharp intake of breath and saw his eyes begin to sparkle. He looked like the perfect impersonation of a child having an early Christmas and Tony couldn't help but grin. He knew his lab was impressive, but there were very few things unlimited funding and a genius brain couldn't manage to pull off. It was truly his pride and joy, and seeing it leave someone else flabbergast was an amazing ego boost as he had built it with his own hands. This was the only area of his house he hadn't allowed contractors to lay a single finger. He knew, however, that he could let Bruce's expert fingers touch anything and trust him to put whatever was moved back to its appropriate position. Though Pepper had often called him messy, his lab was what he would more appropriately denominate “organized chaos”. 

Tony took Bruce by the shoulders and showed him around every nook and cranny of the enormous workshop. He presented him to You and Dummy, speaking of them endearingly, and Bruce observed the inventor from the corner of his eyes. He noticed the tension gradually ebbing away from his body as Tony led him from “programming station” to “launching pad” to “garage” and finally to “relaxation central”, a corner with a coffee table, a couch and a TV. This, Bruce realized, is home to Tony Stark. Even walking down corridors or using the elevator, the engineer never seemed completely at ease, a strain around his mouth and eyes obvious to those who cared to pay attention. But rare were those who actually remarked on these subtle changes, as Tony's stance was one of composed coolness in any situation he was in, at least publicly.

When Stark was sure his colleague had mastered the basic functioning of Jarvis and his two robots, they sat down on the couch. Bruce accepted a glass of water while Stark opened a bottle of wine and served himself a generous glass. The scientist wondered when was the last time Tony ate, and how he managed to keep his body so fit considering all the drinking he did, and a small furrow formed between his eyebrows. Seeing this change of expression, Tony assumed it was because of the bottle in his hand. He puckered his lips but decided to put it down, settling for a can of tonic water. Banner beamed inwardly. 

“So... Listen,” Banner began awkwardly. “Do you wanna talk about something or...”

“You mean about what happened last night?”

“Well, yes.” Bruce saw one of Tony's hand go up to his chest and begin tapping the device encrusted there. “Hey, hey... Sorry, I mean... You don't have to, but just know that if you _want_ to, I'm here to listen.” He shrugged and took a sip from his glass. 

Tony flopped down on the couch next to his colleague, a breath escaping his lips in doing so. He continued percussing gently his reactor, with a faster beat this time. “I wouldn't even know where to start, Bruce.” The scientist's eyes popped open as he realized he managed to get Tony Stark, the Tony Stark, to sit down and talk about his feelings. “I think I kept things suppressed for too long and now it's just... too late. I'm kind of ruined, I guess.”

“No one's past helping, Tony.”

“Not even Loki?” he flashed a signature smirk.

“Not even Loki,” Bruce affirmed, face full of rash certainty. Tony gave him an odd look. “Yeah, I know, he killed hundreds-”

“He killed Coulson.”

“Coulson's no different than the others he killed, Tony. I know you were friends, but he doesn't get a superior rank because of that. If you try to look at things from the crazy god's perspective, he's just another casualty. And from the rest of the world's too.”

“I just have this feeling that I'm supposed to have a vendetta against him, be avenging Coulson, that sort of thing. We are the Avengers after all.”

“He's paying for what he's done. Punishment comes in all shapes and sizes, and I'm guessing that becoming one of the ants, as he called us, is killing him enough. Noticed how quiet he is? Plus, that slap Pepper got in probably smarted his pride.” He snorted. “I heard it from my room, that's how loud the smack was.” Stark wondered if he'd ever heard Banner speak for so long without hesitating. “But back to the topic at hand. How are you, really?”

Tony blew a breath out of his lungs and ran a hand through his hair. Banner could see emotions flashing through his eyes, years of training trying to control his own, he could read them on someone else's face as clear as day. Reluctance, anguish, heartbreak... It finally settled on hopelessness, staring out into Bruce's gentle brown eyes and looking for comfort. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, Bruce. I can't get the words out. Never really was someone to talk about my feelings, and I don't plan on starting now.”

Banner nodded and scratched at his five o'clock shadow at the point where his jaw met his ear. “Yeah, no, I get it. No pressure. When you're ready to talk, I'm here.” Putting down his glass on the coffee table, he stood up, declaring himself to be famished. “You haven't had anything to eat yet, Tony. It's been over a day since your last meal.” 

“Oh, right. Food. That's still fashionable?” he stood up slowly, feeling the world spin around him. “Yeah, you're right. It's probably time I get some food. Then maybe I can get Natasha in the ring for a while.” Banner smirked. “In the RING, I said. Sheesh, talk about lack of professionalism, Bruce.”

They made their way through the other entrance to Stark's lab, a panel of clear glass, and went up surgically clean white stairs, making plans to order pizza. Reaching the top steps and looking into the living room, they were met with the most unconventional sight.


	4. When Fiends Inquire

“By the Norns, what is this ghastly contraption?” Thor yelled, waving his arm in front of him in circular gestures and staring intently at the screen before him. Bruce and Tony heard the sound of gulping and then a massive belch come from the flat-screen. Barton sniggered at Thor's shocked expression. “Why, it almost sounds like Volstagg! But I do not understand this 'video-game' as you called it, Barton.”

Natasha was holding her sides from laughing, but Steve looked as intrigued as Thor while watching the screen. Sudden realization dawned upon Tony; they're playing Rayman Raving Rabbids on the Wii! No small wonder the Captain and the God of Thunder, two beings from another world completely, seemed so amazed. He couldn't contain the laughter any longer, and ran up the few steps to join them in front of the television. It was Barton's turn to make the rabbit shake its soda, drink it and burp. Natasha fell to the floor when the result was a planetary belch and began gasping for breath seeing that it made Paris disappear under a mushroom cloud. 

“How rude!” came Steve's gentle voice, for which Natasha's response was to laugh even harder, Clint having to climb over the coffee table to help her to her feet. “This is what passes for amusement these days? Whatever happened to hopscotch?”

“Oh, c'mon, Captain Morals,” Stark chortled. “Live a little.” 

“I live more than enough, thank you,” he settled back down on the couch, snuggling against a cushion. “You're the one who lives too much. How's the hangover?”

“Like Clint stuck an arrow from one ear to the other. But I'm taking care of it, should be fine by tomorrow.”

“Unless you drink again,” Natasha had finally calmed down. She stepped towards him and took one of his hands. “It's none of our business, Mr Stark, but try not to get yourself killed. It'd be a stupid way to go, considering all the stupid stuff you've already done.”

“Word,” came Clint's one word of support. He was wolfing down handfuls of peanuts, so it came out sounding like “woof”. Tony considered them all, taking in their expressions of varying degrees of worry. Of course number one on that list would be Dr Bruce Banner, and he was surprised to see that a close second was Captain America himself. Thor, Natasha and Clint all wore the same demeanor: arms crossed over the chest, heads propped to the side and shoulders tense. Tony realized they expected him to go off the deep end, throw a tantrum, anything that meant he did not agree with them. Instead of doing what was reckoned, Tony Stark took a deep breath and smiled at each of them.

“Thanks, guys,” his voice was calm, though inside he felt his heart pounding. He wasn't mad. He was emotional. He felt his throat close against a sob. 'No, not a sob, a _hiccup_ ,' he insisted to himself. “Sorry for the scare, just had a bit too much after a rough day. Promise it won't happen again.” And before any of them could answer, he swiveled out of the living room and climbed the few steps to the left, towards the grand piano. He sat down on the black stool, slid a hand against the keys and regretted dearly not having insisted with the piano lessons when he was younger. Unfortunately, as a mediocre player, playing Beethoven's sonata 'Pathétique' was not an option. And calling out to Jarvis to put it on just seemed too, ironically, pathetic. 

“In need of music, Mr Stark?” a soft question crept to his ears from the other side of the instrument. Of all the voices in all the worlds, this was the one he was dreading in a moment he felt so unstable. 

“Sorry, Loki,” he lifted his gaze to see the god sprawled out on the couch, a small pile of books on the floor and dozens of sheets of paper strewn about around him. He spun a pen around his thumb pensively, his arms and hands overrun by indiscernible markings and a smudge across his left cheekbone. “Oh, I really _am_ sorry. Am I bothering you?” 

“In point of fact, I would not mind a moment of your time, if you have one to spare,” he put down a heavy volume on the couch and straightened himself up gracefully. His shirt whispered softly against the leather of the settee as he moved and finally settled tightly around his waist as he stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles before him. “To begin civilly, how do you do? Still having pains?”

“Erm, no... I'm good. Just hungry, but Bruce is ordering some pizzas, so should be fine in a while.”

“Good, good.” The god stretched out his arms over his head and proceeded to folding them, hands on the nape of his neck. He met Stark's gaze intently, until the silence became too much for the engineer to bear.

“So, what did you need help with?” The trickster nodded towards the pile of papers on the ground. “Books? Find anything good? I told you it was a bit out-of-date. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, no, no, no. I did find many things of interest. I believe these were the scrolls you used to learn your trade, yes?” Stark lifted himself to his feet and made his way to sit next to the god, skin tingling by the proximity, goosebumps lifting. He picked up one of the books from the floor and looked through it, chuckling lightly. It was one of his textbooks from MIT on mechanical engineering, covered with his own handwriting and drawings. He hadn't bothered to take them off the shelves in decades and the nostalgia of being a college student struck him with full force.

“I'm pretty sure I had 'Wuthering Heights' somewhere on that shelf and _this_ is what you chose to read? Did you understand any of it?”

“I understood a fair deal, Mr Stark. This seemed like the most basic volume, so I also read these two afterwards.”

“You read, and understood, three mechanical engineering books in,” he checked a tablet on the table next to them, “four hours?”

“Well as I said, there are still things I would like to enquire of you. Nevertheless, I seem to have acquired the very basics of this discipline, yes.”

“That is mind-blowing.”

“I have lost my magical and physical powers, Mr Stark. Any mental capacities I have are my own, gained through much toil and hard work. _Those_ the All-Father cannot strip from me.”

“Well, more power to you, then. But why are you interested in this?”

“If you must know, I admire Midgardian technology. The truth is that everything you have accumulated over the centuries is a result of genius, intelligence, brilliance. While magic also requires these abilities, your _science_ is a pure consequence of the workings of the mind while magic also depends on an external force. If I am to use my time on Midgard wisely, I might as well attain those few things you have done adequately.”

“Don't go and flatter us too much, now. Our heads might explode.”

“I do not believe your heads can become any more inflated, Mr Stark.”

“Ouch, ok, fine. Go ahead and ask away.” Tony picked up a few stray sheets of paper and settled himself comfortably on the seat, plucking the pen from Loki's sinewy fingers. 

“Dr Banner, the pizzas have arrived and will by at the front door in two minutes,” Jarvis called out imperiously. Bruce lifted himself from a chair in the living room and made his way across it, to the front door. On his way there, he looked towards the area with the piano and discerned the two figures, heads close together, rambling about something he couldn't make out. Once he grasped that it could only be Tony and the god of mischief as all the others were accounted for in the living room, his eyes widened in wonder. While paying the delivery boy he considered all the infinite possibilities of having Loki switch sides and become a part of the team, and his heart felt lighter just at the thought of it. Once he got his power back, they'd be unbeatable. He made his way back to the living room, checking on the odd couple on his way back to tell them the food had arrived.

“Kids, pizza's here,” he used a sing-song voice. Two dark heads lifted in perfect sync with mirror expressions, eyes glazed over with concentration and one eyebrow arched slightly. “Uhm, whenever you want, but at least it's warm.” Tony huffed and forced himself to his feet.

“Let's continue later, Loki, I'm famished.” The god nodded and stretched his back in a manner that seemed more out of habit than of need, now that Stark thought about it. A pang hit his chest somewhere near the arc reactor when he saw prominent hip bones poke out from under the shirt. The god was an arrogant, haughty, over-bearing knob, but Tony would be damned if he didn't recognize beauty when he saw it. And genius. 'Son of a bitch,' he thought to himself. 'A contemptuous diva. Sounds familiar.'

The meal in itself was one of the oddest situations he had been in, after being all together in the shawarma joint. It looked like a dysfunctional family picture, Steve sitting on one end of the dining table with Natasha to his left and Tony to his right. Tony in turn had Bruce to his other side, with Thor next to him, swallowing slice after slice of pizza as if there was no tomorrow. Loki sat at the other end of the table, next to his brother, eyeing the Midgardian food suspiciously and only picking up a piece of pepperoni pizza after seeing Tony finish his slice and not falling to the floor, poisoned. Next to Natasha, Clint chowed down his food much like the god of thunder to everyone's amazement except hers. There was very little talking, the sound of throats swallowing and skin sliding against itself apparent as each one reached for another slice.

“Natasha,” Tony began. “I think I need to work up some sweat later, get some toxins out of my body. Mind joining me in the ring next to your bedroom?” Clint looked at him with deadly eyes, expecting it to be an innuendo. 

Not bothering to look up from her plate, the Black Widow nodded and gulped down her mouthful. “Of course, Mr Stark. You don't want to be putting on too much weight or you won't fit into your suit. Literally.” He flashed her an easy grin, glad their relationship had evolved at least a slight bit from its odd beginnings, which could easily have ended in a sexual harassment suit. Or a broken neck. _His_ broken neck. 

“Would I be an unwelcome pest if I joined you?” Loki made Clint jump from his seat. “I am not in my best physical condition now my powers have been taken from me. Some training would be more than welcome.”

Steve looked at Natasha who in turn stared at Tony, the same question echoing in everyone's eyes. Training with the trickster? Was that really a good idea? Stark shrugged easily, his voice tame, “I don't see why not, man. We can't keep you from doing exercise, even in these shithole prisons we have in America the guys still get their hours to work out.” Bruce nodded his approval, certain that keeping the dark-haired god from doing things was only a surer way to anger him. 

“Well, I might as well get some training in too,” the Captain countered. “We can work in pairs. I'll tackle Stark and Natasha can work with Loki.”

“And why me, Captain?” she lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow. 

“'Tis better for him, Lady Romanoff,” Thor spoke thoughtfully. “The bodily capabilities of the Captain are higher than that of a normal mortal, he might hurt him. You, however, are a woman, less capable of doing him harm.” The Black Widow kicked her chair back in one swift movement, jumped on the table and crossed it towards Thor, tightly wrapping an expert leg around his throat before he could even react.

“Undermine me again for my gender, Thor, and you'll see where that gets you,” she hissed. He unhooked her easily and sat her down on the table, amusement obvious in his eyes.

“I meant no disrespect, my lady,” he bowed slightly, right fist to his chest. “Only that, though your skills are remarkable, you do not have as much strength as Captain Rogers. He has, after all, been geometrically modified.” Banner and Stark choked laughing.

“Thor, it's _genetically_ modified,” Bruce managed to spit out while wiping tears from his eyes. “Geometry has to do with shapes and number. Genetics is what composes our body.” The colossal god looked confused. “Never mind. Yes, Natasha has a slight disadvantage when it comes to physical strength, but she has a higher level of training and performance skills than Steve.” The spy nodded her approval. “She could kill your brother just as easily.”

Throughout the exchange, Loki had propped up one of his elbows on the table, leaning his cheek against it, a glimmer of entertainment sparking up as he saw his brother being manhandled by a woman half his girth. Yet when the comments about who would be able to kill him faster came, a dark shadow clouded his eyes, and his voice lowered an octave when he spoke. “I would rather one did not speak of me as if I were not present, all this talk of slaying me is really quite unnerving.” He excused himself and walked away from the table, towards the living room where he had left the books. 

“Now look what you've gone and done,” Tony said lightly, the tension in the room going up exponentially after the god had spoken. “You've upset the little guy.” He propped himself up from his chair and went after Loki, tugging gently at his shirt to get him to turn around. “Don't listen to them, man. They have a constant power struggle going on, I went through the same conversation before I left for Rome.” The trickster looked down at him. Though he seemed smaller, his actual height had not been modified, only his demeanor and Stark was surprised he had to crane his neck up to look into the god's face properly. “Look, train with me.” Loki's eyes widened. “I'll give you less of a hard time. We don't even need to talk. Well, maybe a bit for directions but-”

“Why?” the god interrupted him. 

“Erm... Why what, exactly?”

“Why all this kindness, Mr Stark? I see how uncomfortable you are in my vicinity, and I know you find this... sleeping arrangement unfortunate. Why go out of your way to accommodate my needs? You could just as well ignore my presence here.”

“Listen, it's not easy for me to be on speaking terms with a mass murderer -”

“In reality, very few lives were taken by these hands,” he offered his hands as illustration, palms towards the engineer, a mock of the gesture of surrender. 

“But they killed one of my friends, and were directly responsible for many others,” Tony's voice became dangerous. 

“I did what needed to be done. I continue to stand by my actions,” he let his arms drop, deadweight next to his torso. “May I remind you that, though I do not know many things about you, I do know that you yourself fabricated weapons capable of substantial destruction?”

Stark had had enough. He grabbed the god by the collar of his shirt and forced him to stoop his upper body to Tony's own height. The statement was quiet, hazardously calm. “I remind myself of that fact every single day and have nightmares about it at night, you son of a bitch. I was sure I was making our world a better place and found I was sorely mistaken. But I've had a go at redemption. What have you done to make up for _your_ actions?”

Loki's facial expression was passive, unchanged. “We are awfully alike, you and I, except where it matters. You think you were wrong yet I am convinced of the righteousness of my actions. The results speak for themselves.”

Shoving him gently away, Tony considered what these words meant. It dawned upon him that maybe it meant that the god meant for things to end the way they had. He shook his head, clearing it of impossible possibilities but when he opened his mouth to speak again, Loki was already making his way up the stairs. The trickster stopped in the middle of his ascent and called out sweetly over his shoulder, “Shall I meet you in the training chamber in an hour, Man of Iron?” Tony's expression was one of pure puzzlement over what had just occurred. He shook his head again and followed the god up the stairs, going into his room to change. 

Arriving at the gym, Steve and Natasha were already in the ring, sizing each other up, the Captain wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants, the Black Widow sporting spandex shorts and a sports bra. Tony forced himself not to stare at her curvaceous figure, not a small feat for a mortal but he valued his life. Fast as a snake, she attacked Steve, taking him down with a sleek half-moon compass, a move she had learned while training with capoeira masters in Brazil. Not used to such techniques, the Captain fell fast and hard on his back, lifting himself up using his legs as impulse. He was easily twice as big as the russian, but she was faster.

“Kind of feels like watching Rocky 4,” Tony murmured to himself, picking up weights from the corner of the gym and starting a few sequences. 

“Heard that, Tony,” Steve shouted out. His second of distraction was enough for Natasha to coil herself around his arm and take him down again with a bit of leverage. “How the heck do you keep doing that? You're one third of my weight!” 

“She is quite impressive,” Loki mused from the door of the gym, looking strangely casual in black sweatpants and a yellow wife-beater. He placed himself in the matted area of the room, stretching long, ivory limbs. “I must admit it feels amazing to actually move, doesn't it?”

Stark struggled with the weights in his hands. “Not when you've been close to an alcoholic coma for four days in a row,” he grunted. “I feel like crap.” He let the weights fall at his feet and stood up. The god sat with his legs crossed and spine straight, eyes fluttering between open and closed. “What are you up to?”

“Uhm...? Oh! Routine recalibration,” the words came from a lopsided grin. “I am, literally, controlling my heart.”

“You know how to do that? I studied it briefly, something about biofeedbacks and controlling blood pressure or something. Not a fan of biology, unfortunately. Might have been of some help with my... _condition_ ,” he tapped his reactor. 

“It is much simpler than what you are implying. Simple concentration and breathing exercises are enough, Mr Stark. I think Midgardians might call it meditation. It could serve you some purpose if you are having trouble collecting yourself.” The malicious glimmer in his eyes showed clearly into the hidden message, he knew Stark was going through a difficult time. Tony rolled his eyes and grabbed one of Loki's arms, pulling him up to his feet.

“Well, you're not here to meditate, you're here to train. Meditate on your own damn time, I need to stay in shape.” Loki growled at the unexpected physical contact, lunging for Stark's throat with his free hand and crushing his windpipe. Caught off guard, the engineer tripped on his own feet and fell back on his back. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Loki knelt down swiftly, catching the smaller man's neck around his arm and holding him in place. The power in his arms was evident to Tony, but a frightful surprise. 

“I am slender, Anthony Stark, but do not mistake leanness with weakness.” He pushed the engineer off him with slightly more strength than necessary. 

Tony gasped for breath and saw that the Captain and Natasha had stopped their sparring to look at the scene before them. Natasha's lips were slightly parted, in an expression of surprise, while Steve had one leg over the ropes over the ring, ready to jump out at a moment's notice. Stark held a hand up to him, motioning he was fine, and stood up slowly. “You got me off guard, Loki. I barely think that counts.” The trickster huffed.

“A real warrior is never off his guard.” He turned his back to Tony and advanced towards the weights that were still on the floor. 

“Got your work cut out for you, Tony,” Steve smiled easily. A still stunned Tony Stark massaged a tender neck and trailed after the god, shoulders slumped and amour-propre shattered even further.


	5. When Fiends Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovelies,
> 
> I've just realized I didn't put any notes in last night's chapter. I guess I didn't really _need_ any, but today I do. Because I haven't thanked you enough for all the input, the kudos and the beautiful comments that have been left.
> 
> Fanfiction really is a wonderful thing. It wakes up the creativity in us, and we do it for the pleasure. For ourselves, and for sharing it with others. It seems silly, but we make up a community of extremely creative fans, and I love us for it. I don't know any of you, yet sharing my flights of fancy and getting to see people enjoying it makes my day. I'm glad I came back to the world of fangirling and geeking out and _enjoying_ my fandoms, as opposed to suppressing it.
> 
> In any case, my finals begin tomorrow. I will try to update on Friday, but there will definitely not be an update tomorrow. I actually blew off some studying to get some writing done... Not very proud of that, but in that's how it is.
> 
> For words of encouragement, constructive criticism and any other things you'd like to voice, find me on Tumblr:  
> modernanglophilia. tumblr. com/

A bizarre sort of schedule installed itself upon Stark manor. Considering the lack of regularity, one could barely call it routine, but it followed its own internal logic and the residents of the mansion adapted to it as well as they could. Agents Romanoff and Barton were still sent on S.H.I.E.L.D missions regularly, making them the most absent dwellers and also the most injured ones. Bruce Banner was, contrastingly, the only one who barely ever left the house, except on the few occasions in which something triggered an attack and he jumped through the windows of his room. That glass had already been replaced on three occasions after only two months of the Avengers being present. 

Occasionally, when Thor became too overbearing for even Steve to handle (though he had recently earned the nickname Captain Patience), Tony told him to wonder off and visit Jane for a few days. Those were the moments he dreaded the most: not having one god to control another put his nerves on edge, even more than they already were. It was, however, the only way to definitely keep him away from the bottles of alcohol that seemed to be constantly calling out to him, though he hadn't touched one since the last mishap. He knew that being under the influence would not help him keep an eye on whatever the god of mischief was up to. 

It was odd, though. After their sparring mishap in the gym that night, or maybe it was the conversation before it, they settled for a relationship based on mutual distrust which was, ironically, more open than some based on reliability. Tony did not hesitate to call Loki out on unusual behavior and Loki was just as open about what he wanted to do. They found themselves in each other's company daily, be it for physical training or for impromptu lessons on mechanical engineering. Stark was astounded by the god's sponge-like ability to take in everything that was said to him and Loki, in turn, couldn't help but develop a strange fondness for the man with a mechanical heart. He was, after all, being incredibly mellow about the situation. Even the drinking had stopped, or at least in public. Until a particularly restless night.

It was close to dawn when the god finally decided it was of no use trying to close his eyes. He might as well just get up and go down to the kitchen to make himself some of that magical elixir the Midgardians called coffee. He pulled on a pair of boxers, wrapped a soft robe around him and, securing the rope around his waist, stepped into the corridor. Noticing the light stream from under Stark's bedroom at a time like this was unusual, as the man would either stay to work in his workshop until these late, or early, hours, or he'd be passed out, clothes still on his body. For some reason he could not for the life of him understand, Loki walked towards the door and, before he could stop himself, knocked.

“Wha-aa-at?” came a croak from inside the room.

“Mr Stark, are you in need of assistance?” Loki slid the door open and popped his head through the small gap. The sight was heartbreaking, even to him. Through the windows he could see the softly graying sky over the sea, revealing that on the other side of the world, the sun had begun its torturously slow ascent. Against the panoramic view, Stark sat propped up, leaning on the window. His legs were tucked against his torso, assuming an upright fetal position. His head against the glass and falling to the side, he kept his eyes closed, looking almost peaceful if it weren't for the nearly empty bottle of vodka in one of his hands. The sheets from his bed were strewn around him, making Loki think of an oversized bird in its nest. 'But nests don't have flasks in them,' the god remarked to himself, seeing a twin bottle of vodka poking out. He approached the human with slow, cautious steps, much as one would do with a bird, still not completely sure of what he was doing. Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees, scared of frightening the drunken figure in front of him. “Mr Stark?”

“Whadyawant?” Tony's eyes remained closed, the air barely making it through his vocal chords. 

“I want nothing, you foolish human,” Loki replied angrily, but quickly came to his senses that the human wasn't completely conscious of the world surrounding him. It had been centuries since he had been that intoxicated. “Would you like me to aid you to the bath?” he added in a soft voice.

“Naaah,” his hand dropped the bottle and rose in front of him, shaping itself around one of Loki's exposed knees. “Y'know, man... For an asshole... You're actually ok. You've been good...” Loki's nose twitched at the insult, and at being treated like an animal. “Dunno why you do all the fucked up shit you do, but yeah... Remember that talk we had on your first day here?” The words were slurred and, as Loki already had trouble with some aspects of Midgardian language, grasping Tony's drunken garble demanded further effort. 

“We have had numerous conversations, Anthony,” his voice had become gentle, and he was astonished at how easily he had switched to using Stark's given name. “You may want to pin-point it.”

“Talkin' 'bout when you said we're the same, but different?”

“Ah, yes. Are you still mulling over that one remark?” Loki settled himself comfortably on the floor. This felt like a typical inebriated discussion, that could last hours if one let it go that way.

“I, sir, do not _mull_ ,” the engineer creaked an eye open, taking in the god's disheveled appearance. “I dis-hic-sect, I take things apart. It's what I'm good at.”

“Managed to get very far with me, have you?” The smile on his thin lips was absolutely devilish, yet in a tired fashion.

“Nope,” the answer came as if it were a matter of fact. “Got nowhere with _you_ , mister.” He waggled his finger at the god's nose, as if telling off a young child. “'s why you're an asshole. You... kill people with a smile on your face... And you get caught... And you get punished... And you don't even care. And I don't get it, how you let it all _go_. Doesn't it _haunt_ you?” His voice became desperate, clinging to every word it emphasized. “I can't _sleep_ at night, I see _all_ of their faces. And when I _do_ sleep, I see _you_ and fuck if I know what that means. So you see... I can't -hic- sleep, but then I just faint, and then it's worse, and I want to drink but I can't because everyone's here...” The sentences began chaining themselves, a long stream of incoherent logic. 

“To answer your original query, none of it haunts me because, as I've already told you, I am convinced of the righteousness of my actions.”

“Said that last time, too. Somethin' 'bout results...”

“Stark, this is barely the moment to be having this exchange. You can hardly remember your own name.” The god stood up and went to the bathroom, returning with a cup of water and handing it to the inventor. He downed the cup in seconds flat and Loki repeated the journey three more times, silence looming over the room. After the fourth cup, Tony set it on the floor, in the middle of the blankets wrapped around him. The god took him by the hand, lifting him up delicately and guiding him by the elbow towards the bed. Stark tumbled onto it face first, grunting at his own weight falling on the mattress. The taller man gathered the sheets from the floor, gently setting cup and bottles on the white chest of drawers, and covered the exposed human. As he made to turn out of the room and let the human get some rest, a hand tugged at his robe gently.

“You're not half bad for a god of mischief, Loki,” came the drunken voice. “Jus' wish you had it in you to see how much you hurt us down here... 's not because you're right that you can get away with everything, especially not... Coulson's...” A small tear escaped Tony's closed eyes, momentarily staining the white bedspread a darker shade. “ _He_ was a good man. We won't ever live up to him...” The god stepped away from the bed, unfurling the man's hand from his robe. “'s why Pepper hates you, y'know... Not even for invading the world... 's just 'cause you think you can get away with anything... Kinda like...” His sentence was interrupted by a soft snore, followed by louder ones. Loki took one last look at the man and walked out of the room, turning off the lights as he went.

\----------

“Good morning, sir. It's 11am and the weather in Malibu is of 74 degrees -”

“Shut. Up.” Tony's voice was rough, throat dry and head already promising a day of atrocious pains. As if the physical symptoms of a hangover weren't enough, his mind started pumping synapse upon synapse of disappointment, guilt and confusion in turn. Disappointment and guilt at having relapsed when he had strictly promised himself he wouldn't and confusion because his last memory placed him sitting on the floor, not laying in bed. Specially not covered with a blanket. Even the few times he did manage to crawl onto his mattress, not once had he had the presence of mind to actually envelop himself in his sheets. “Jarvis, what happened last night?”

“Well, sir, you drank quite an impressive amount, even for your standards.”

“Stating the obvious there, and I didn't program you to give me lip. How come I'm in bed?”

“Sir, the security records show the god Loki coming to your room last night. You had a conversation with him and he walked you to bed.”

“I'm sorry, could you repeat that?!” 

“Sir, the security recor-”

“Oh, come on, Jarvis, I got _that_. What did he do to me?”

“Nothing that I would attribute to malice, sir. His movements were all friendly, and he barely spoke.”

“Send the security footing to my personal tablet and wipe it off the general servers, will you?”

“It's done, sir.”

“Thanks.” Tony pushed himself onto a sitting position, staring at the beautiful Malibu skies. He wondered at what kind of conversation he could possibly had had with the god of mischief in the middle of the night, and worried at the thought of Loki taking care of him. There must be some awful intent behind the facade, but what? What could he possibly get out of being kind towards his host? Stark began stretching himself out, catching his reflection on the window and realizing how his movements mirrored those of Loki when the god arched his back and elongated his arms over his head. He quickly put his arms down and got out of bed, feeling like an invisible man had whacked him across the forehead at the sudden movement. He groaned and shuffled his way to the bathroom, where he saw two aspirins and a cup of water waiting for him next to the sink.

After taking a quick shower and pulling on jeans and a shirt, he made his way to the kitchen. He made a double espresso and sat down on one of the chairs.

“Uhm... good morning?” Bruce smiled timidly. Tony jumped off his seat, startled by the unexpected presence, and yelped when the hot coffee spilled over his hands. The scientist had been sitting next to him.

“Son of a bitch! What are you doing here?” He shook his hands dry and accepted the dishcloth Bruce handed him. The researcher's face contorted with laughter as Tony continued expelling curse after curse under his breath.

“Same as you. Coffee break. Though in your case, I'm guessing breakfast?” Bruce calmed himself down and looked at his friend's face properly. “Rough night, buddy?” Tony nodded. “Relapse?” A sigh. Bruce shrugged. “Happens to the best of us, Tony. Don't beat yourself up about it. You managed two months, more than anyone thought you were capable of. We had bets going on.”

“Y'know, you guys deserve medals for moral support.”

“As if you haven't had bets with Thor and Barton over when I would Hulk-out again.” Tony snorted, thinking of the 50 dollars he had managed to swipe from his teammates. 

“Point taken. Have you seen Loki?” Bruce looked surprised at the sudden change of subject. He scratched one of his eyebrows gently, looking thoughtful. 

“Actually, yeah. He was making coffee really early, I had just woken up. I actually wanted to speak to you about him.” He chewed on the inside of his cheeks, willing the words to come on their own. “Look, I don't think it's a good idea to be teaching him all this engineering stuff, specially not at the speed he learns things.”

“Oh?” Tony took a sip of his coffee, half-listening and half-wondering at what had happened between himself and the god the night before.

“I just... I think he might be up to something, have a plan of some kind.” Tony's eyes darted up from his cup to meet Bruce's own. He was absolutely serious, brows furrowed, lips frowning slightly. “He's been too good, too casual. He might be using us.” The engineer's free hand rubbed his neck, massaging a knot of tension. “Tony?” 

“Yeah, no, I hear you. I'll have a talk to him about it. Where is he now?” Bruce frowned further, sensing the slight tone of desperation in Stark's voice.

“Don't know. I heard Thor step out, so you'll have to ask Steve, or just go knock on his door.” Bruce stood up, setting his own cup of coffee in the sink. “Tony, I mean it. I want Loki to be a good guy as much as any of us, but he still hasn't changed. We need to be vigilant.” Tony nodded, eyes out of focus. Bruce sighed. He had come to know Tony well over the past months, and that look meant the engineer hadn't heard a single word of what had been said. He was most likely thinking up different possibilities to solving the same problem, in case one of them failed.

Hearing Bruce's steps fade, Tony suddenly jumped into action, taking the steps in pairs and knocking on Loki's door with urgency. No answer came. His friend's voice decided to echo in his mind at that minute. 'He might be using us.' The engineer knocked with more urgency, but still there was no reply. He ran back down stairs, looked in Loki's favorite spot on the couch next to the piano, but the only proof he had ever been there were two books and a few sheets of paper on the table next to the settee. The engineer's thoughts immediately went to his lab, where the god would eventually sit with him for small amounts of time when Stark was adjusting his suits. 'Can't be. He still isn't advanced enough to get the basic functioning of even the Mark I,' he insisted to himself. 'If there _is_ a plan, that can't be it, not yet in any case. And he doesn't even have access to the lab, for fuck's sake.' He walked down the corridor towards the Captain's room and rapped gently on the door's frame.

“Who is it?” came Steve's voice, sounding strained. 

“It's me.”

“Come on in, Tony,” he called out. The engineer opened the door to an upside-down Captain, legs hooked over a bar attached to his walk-in closet's doorframe. “I'll be right down.” He did a series of fifty crunches as Tony stared out the window with a view over his front garden. 

“Such a show-off,” Tony smirked at him as Steve lowered himself from the bar. 

“Fast metabolism,” Steve shrugged. “Not as swell as people make it out to be. Can't get soused, have to train daily... Pretty crummy, if you ask me. So, what's happening?”

“I was just wondering if you had seen Loki today.”

“Oh, yes. He went out with Thor.”

“He what?!” Tony began to back out of the room.

“Don't worry, Tony. The man still gives me the heebie-jeebies, but he's got Thor with him. I think he couldn't stand being inside anymore.”

“Somebody could have given me a head's up or something! Jarvis, can you trace Thor down at all? I gave him a Starkphone, but he might have broken it, delicate little flower that he is.”

“Sir, the God of Thunder seems to be in Miss Potts home.”

“Son of a bitch.” He ran out of Steve's room, making his way down the stairs to his lab, but a hand stayed him. He tried to shake it off, but the grip became firmer.

“Tony, trust me on this. Let him go, he's with Thor. You know Thor would put his life on the line to save Miss Potts. As would any of us.” A small glimmer came to his eyes when he spoke her name that made Tony want to reach out and punch him in his pretty-boy face. Overcoming his basic protective instincts over Pepper, he shrugged out of Steve's hand.

“If they're not back in fifteen minutes, I'm suiting up and going to check up on her,” he growled dangerously low. No one would harm his assistant and best-friend, he would not let them.

“If they're not back in fifteen minutes, I'll gladly come with you and, how do you so aptly put it these days? Kick Loki's miserable ass.” Tony snorted and made his way down the corridor. He sat down on Loki's usual spot on the couch, breathing in slowly to calm his nerves. In the air that was expelled from the cushioning as he dropped all his weight on it lingered a leathery smell he immediately associated with Loki. He took in another breath of it, savoring the intricacy of the god's scent, mixing petrichor, leather and a delicate note of mint. His eyes snapped open at the realization that the trickster's smell was soothing to him. Since when was this an appropriate reaction?

“Ah, brother, I am proud of you!” Thor's distinct booming voice sounded from behind the front door, and it opened with a crash as it hit the wall. 'So much for delicate flower,' Tony humored himself as he ran towards them. The sight of the two brothers together was out of the ordinary as Loki tended to stay out of Thor's sight. Yet today, two gods were standing at his front door, wearing jeans, t-shirts and sneakers, and this was a normal day in Tony Stark's life. He rolled his eyes at the thoughts crossing his mind, and grabbed Loki by the collar of his t-shirt, slamming him against the wall with ease.

“Why were in you Pepper's house?” Tony hissed through his teeth. Thor jumped to defend his smaller brother, yanking the engineer away from him.

“Man of Iron, be not too quick in your judgement! My brother went to see Lady Potts bec-”  
his words were cut off by the look the trickster gave him. “I believe my brother can speak for himself.”

“You believe correctly, _brother_ ,” Loki's tone was still cold when he pronounced the word. “As you can testimony, Mr Stark, I have no blood on me. My hands are clean. I went to visit Miss Potts on a purely diplomatic journey.”

“Diplomatic?” Tony's brows furrowed as he puzzled over the choice of words. Loki turned his back to the engineer.

“I...” for the first time he heard hesitation in the god's voice. “I had to see her.” His voice lowered to a whisper Tony could barely make out. “I needed to make reparations.” Tony began noticing the small things, the slouch in the god's usually dignified stature, the bowed head, the slack fingers. And the breathing. Above all, the ragged breathing. “I went to apologize.”


	6. When Angels Forgive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovely people,
> 
> The thank-you I last expressed over the responses this story has been having still stand. I am incredibly grateful to each and every single one of you who take the time to read it, though there are so many other options out there. 
> 
> My finals advance slowly (and marvelously!), but I've taken time off from studying to write this chapter. It's a bit on the short side, but I find it was one of the chapter's I've enjoyed writing the most until now. And I hope you will also be fond of it.
> 
> As usual, I remain at your beck and call for any questions, comments, requests, etc et al, on my Tumblr account:  
> modernanglophilia. tumblr. com/
> 
> Much love to you wonderful people!

The revelation was staggering to Tony's already overstrung body and his legs became weak at the knees. Taking a step back, wanting to put distance between himself and the god, he let himself fall to the floor slowly, movement reminding one of a leaf in a warm autumn day. He lowered his head between his uplifted knees and took long, steadying breaths. The trickster would be the death of him, he was sure of it. Be it physically or emotionally. 

“What are you playing at?” the engineers voice rose barely above sigh, but Loki's acute hearing captured the words. He spun around, expecting to be at eye-level with his host, and his eyes widened seeing the broken figure on the floor. His movements became even lither than usual, sinking to his hands and knees with cat-like grace and crawling his way towards Stark.

“You do not recall last night?” he spoke warily, settling himself in front of the engineer, eyes still lowered and fingers tying themselves into knots of worry. 

“Haven't had time to watch the security video.” Stark watched the god nod slowly, baffled at how out of character he was acting. “I hope I wasn't... unpleasant. I can be an asshole, to say the least, when drunk out of my mind.” He let out an ambiguous huff of breath, leaving both men wondering if it was supposed to be a laugh or a sigh.

“Then you were surprisingly agreeable.” Loki lay down on the floor, limbs scattered in odd positions. The engineer contemplated him, allowing him the time needed to find his words. But the silence became too uncomfortable for the man who was so used to eternal monologues.

“Cat got your tongue?” An absent-minded smirk flitted through the god's face.

“A favorite idiom of mine,” Loki shared a small laugh with the ceiling. The sound brought sudden warmth to Stark's stomach, and he instantly suppressed the feeling. “Though your previously used 'playing at' is much less appreciated.” More silence filled in the tension between the two men. “I am not playing any games, Mr Stark. Not anymore.”

“You'll have to excuse me if I find that a bit hard to believe.” The trickster heaved himself to a sitting position, looking as deep into the engineer's eyes as he would be allowed. Until the contact was broken by brown eyes dropping their gaze. “Bruce thinks you're up to something.”

“What do you believe?” A whisper of plea introduced itself to Loki's voice. Tony's eyes instantly snapped back up at the sound, bewildered by the god's attitude. 

“You know, if you like felines, you might enjoy this. Bruce once said your brain is a bag full of cats. Of course, you probably won't like what he meant by it, but it had an ounce of truth.” Chocolate and emerald continued to meet, hesitation now absent from both. “I think you _are_ up to something, you have some kind of plan to get your powers back.” The god nodded slowly, afraid to lose the engineer's gaze. “Which means you're actually kind of onboard with Odin's punishment.” He acquiesced again. 

“You may not remember, Anthony,” the god was interrupted as the inventor inhaled sharply at hearing his full given name. A smirk twitched at the corner of Loki's mouth and he began anew, “You may not remember, but you called me an asshole last night, though I find the word lacking in regards to meaning and etiquette.” Seeing Tony's attempt to apologize, Loki lifted a hand to stop him in his tracks. “The insult was taken in stride, no need to pester yourself over it. Yet it made me come to terms with the fact that you're not wrong. Not completely right, either, but correct when it concerns my attitude towards your mourning of Agent Coulson.”

The god took a deep, pained breath and continued, “I made amends with Miss Potts today in the interest of conserving our, for lack of a better word, friendship. Though I doubt she has completely forgiven my hand in Agent Coulson's death, she has accepted my apology with the graciousness of a Vanir. I can only hope to the Norns that guide my life that you will do the same.”

The silence in the room became tangible, their gazes still connected. Stark was becoming used to being the silent-type after the months he had recently spent, but he wasn't sure if the scene unravelling in front of him was real or another alcohol-induced dream. He was sure the god in front of him would soon transform into a fox, or a cat (to continue the trend) and jump into his arms. In fact, he was stunned when that option actually seemed tempting. But the delicate cough the trickster had just feigned to bring him back to earth was proof that the moment was genuine, and so was the apology. The engineer's eyes tightened closed and reopened to see the god standing up slowly, defeat written in every heavy movement.

“Hey, wait...” Tony's call lingered in the air between them, heavy with doubt. “Not waiting for my answer is just rude.” Loki looked at him, eyes shaded and shaken. “Of course I accept your apology, Loki... All you ever had to do was ask, and mean it.” Tony stretched out a hand, grasping one of Loki's own in a tender grip. 

Both god and mortal eyes widened at the heat that emanated from their clasping hands, a soft blue light englobing it momentarily and moving up the trickster's arm in lethargic tendrils, barely visible. They sprung to their feet while the tendrils dissipated through his body. They seemed to sink into Loki's skin, and creep their way into his eyes, nose, mouth, and he breathed it in like a famished man. When all that was left was a frail ghost of the initial glow, the expression on Loki's face was amazing to behold. He looked jubilant, a laugh ripping through his body and head shaking back with the sheer power of it. Tony was nonplussed by his own laughter at the god's glee.

“Got it back?” Tony referred to the trickster's magic.

“Not even close,” the god smirked, mirth in his eyes. “Odin would never make it _this_ simple.” He curled one of his hands into a fist before his eyes and lifted the index finger, analyzing it intently. A small spark erupted from its tip, shaping itself into a leaf and floating its way to the floor while it disappeared. “But apparently my actions deserved a reward, so I have been given a small amount of my powers back. Of course, my real powers are exponentially more potent... But this is a welcome surprise. And I have you to thank, Anthony.” The engineer was suddenly engulfed in leather, and petrichor, and mint, and found his arms also wrapping themselves around the god's slender frame. He felt the difference in Loki's stance, his back straight, muscles relaxed, eyes shining. Even his lips seemed fuller, but why he would ever notice _that_ was beyond his comprehension. The god was still laughing when he stepped away from Stark's body. 

“If you've only got one part of your magic back, what else do you need to do now?” Tony wondered aloud, bitterly regretting the distance put between them and wondering why.

“The All-Father has plans, Anthony. No one has ever successfully seen into them,” Loki mused. “I believe this bounty he has given me was for understanding the power of forgiveness. However, and once again I must apologize, I still do not regret what I have done. What I regret is hurting you in the process of it.” The smile on his face was unusually peaceful and sweet. “The results still speak for themselves.” 

“What results are you talking about? You make it sound like you _wanted_ to end up powerless and exiled on earth.” Loki shot him a sly look. “No... No way.”

“I have yet to give you an answer to that query, mortal, do not make assumptions.”

“Oh, so we're back to 'mortal' now, are we? Served my purpose, I guess.” Tony stalked off slowly to the kitchen, not feeling the god's eyes following him.

“I doubt I shall ever get a grasp on humans,” he muttered to himself. “ _That_ one in particular...” He stretched in his usual fashion, grinning at the magic that now crackled gently in his spine, a feeling he had missed immensely. 

\----------

It was late in the evening when Agents Romanoff and Barton walked into the house, Clint nursing a broken rib and Natasha carrying both duffle bags. Her eyes instantly narrowed, feeling an unexpected aura in the room, and she instinctively crouched into a power stance. Clint knew better than to place a hand on her shoulder at a moment like this, knowing she would pounce on him the second he did. Instead, he overtook her slowly, grunting softly at the pain echoing throughout his body. It had been a particularly rough mission, though you wouldn't know it looking at the Black Widow. 

“Holy crap!” came an enthusiastic cheer from upstairs. Natasha calculated in seconds that it was Tony's voice and that it was coming from his room. She shrugged off her position, feeling reassured. She would never be able to call this house her home, but hearing the engineer's voice had a welcoming factor even she couldn't deny. 

“How much d'you wanna bet they're comparing wang sizes?” sniggered Clint from a few steps in front of her. She slapped him upside the head and was rewarded with a resounding yelp.

“Tony? Are you decent, can I come up?” her voice sounded throughout the mansion. Though punishing Hawkeye's statement, odd situations involving genitalia were a very real risk when one lived in the playboy's entourage. She did not need, or want, to be involved in any of them.

“For you, 'Tasha, I'm _always_ decent!” Tony answered with a shout. His feet appeared at the top of the stairs and he leaned down to look at both agents. “Oh, good, you guys are both in one piece. Come on up, you _have_ to see this.” His wide smile was visible until he disappeared into his room again. Natasha gestured for Clint to go before her and joined him at the stairs after leaving their bags in their respective rooms. They entered Stark's suite together, surprised to see the lights were off and windows darkened. 

Bruce, Steve, Tony and Thor all sat together on the king sized bed, legs crossed and eyes wide, looking like entertained children at a birthday party spectacle. On his feet in front of the bed, the trickster moved his limbs gracefully, contorting and twisting slowly around an orb of light. It took a few seconds for the new arrivals to understand the scene before them, and it was only when the god threw the sphere into the air and it floated slowly to meet an outstretched hand that they noticed it lacked a distinct shape. Cupping it gently in his palms, he blew the circle over Stark's head, where it burst into a miniature firework. Lazily, the sparks all drifted horizontally back into the trickster's hands, where he clasped them back together. Parting his hands slowly, a minuscule dancer began prancing about, skipping up one arm, following it to his shoulder, through one ear and out of the other, finally climbing down the other limb. The small figure stopped on the tip of Loki's thumb, from where it dove elegantly and splashed into the floor. 

“That was enchanting, brother,” Thor spoke softly for the first time in many weeks. The four men on the bed began to clap.

“What _was_ that?” Clint managed to choke out, seeing that Natasha was having trouble gathering words.

“Loki got some of his magic back today,” Bruce said, matter-of-factly. Seeing Natasha's eyes widen and her shoulders tense back, ready to strike, he lifted both hands. “Jarvis, lights, please?” The bulbs flickered on, illuminating Loki's abashed smile. “He deserved it.” The scientist filled the agents in on the adventures of the day, or at least the details Stark had let him know of. Thor eventually intervened, explaining what had happened in Pepper's apartment. It became evident that Loki had been in a more dangerous situation than Miss Potts the entire time, given that as soon as he had appeared from behind his brother she pulled out a gun from a drawer. 

“I spoke to her earlier on the telephone,” Steve announced. “She was fine, and said she will be joining us for dinner as soon as you two were back. She's missed you, doll,” the Captain nodded to Natasha. The two women had joined forces against the testosterone they were constantly surrounded by and often went out together. “And we're glad you're back, safe and sound.” Clint snorted, pointing to his chest. “Clint, don't be such a sourpuss. You've had worse.” A small pout settled on the archer's lips, making Natasha hip-bump him gently.

“Could we get some food, though? I'll probably be less of a... sorry, what was it, Cap? 'Sourpuss'?” Barton snorted again. 

Within the hour the eccentric group was sitting at the dining room table, two boats heaped with assorted japanese delicacies in front of them. The atmosphere was infinitely more casual than it had been for dinner two months before, and the sitting arrangements had slowly shifted, reflecting the alliances that had formed over time within the mansion. Though Steve still sat at one end of the table with the russian to his left, he now found himself speaking quietly to Bruce to his right, exchanging banalities about the recent advances on one's research or the other's art. To the scientist's other side sat his closest friend, Tony, and across from them sat the unofficial couple of agents, Clint directly across from the engineer as to enable eventual food flinging. The brothers sat next to their favorite mortals, one across from the other which, to Thor's joy, rendered Loki's attempts at ignoring him near impossible. 

“Guys, I think today calls for a celebration,” Tony opined between mouthfuls of sushi. “Really. Loki here has come a long way already.” 

“I hardly think a little compassion is something to be celebrated,” Steve chewed and swallowed a piece of yakitori and stared at Thor, who tore off every piece of chicken off the skewer in a single bite.

“That's where you're wrong, though,” the engineer affirmed. “A bit of compassion is the best reason to celebrate. And we haven't had a Stark party in a while.”

“With good reason, Tony,” Natasha frowned, remembering the last time Stark had had a bash at his house. It was the reason the mansion had been recently rebuilt.

“Oh, come on, I'll be good. I'll get Jarvis to lock down the workshop and not let me in until tomorrow, and Bruce can control my alcohol intake. He'll even enjoy it and make it a scientific experiment.” He shot his neighbor a grin, though the answer in the other's eyes was somber. “For science, people. For _science_!”

“To be fair,” Loki's measured tone cut through the room. “Mr Stark did promise me a light bout of drinking a couple of months back.” Thor lifted an eyebrow at his brother. “No need to use that look on me, Thor. The powers returned to me today do not take me any closer to my previous god-like state. One could consider me a conjurer of cheap tricks for now.”

“This 'bout', brother, would it be a challenge for any of us to rise to?” Mirth was apparent in the blonde man's eyes. 

Loki sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The god of thunder was much too competitive for his taste. “If you wish.”

“Then let us finish dining and embark upon this perilous journey!”

Bruce and Steve shook their heads disapprovingly in perfect sync, one looking at Tony and the other at Natasha, who also had a competitive gleam in her eyes. Tony clapped his hands with obvious delight, jumped to his feet and fetched bottles of tequila, vodka and scotch. As he set them on the table, Bruce grabbed his arm and whispered to him, “What are you playing at, Tony? You're supposed to stay off the sauce.”

“Brucey, keep calm and don't Hulk-out. I've got a plan.”


	7. When Fiends Mimic Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dears!
> 
> My finals were a raging success, and I am now officially graduated. Also, I am finally arrived from my "graduation trip", a week in Sicily. Now, I am on vacation in my apartment in Rome, and will be here for the next two weeks.
> 
> And i count on being productive. Or as productive as I can.
> 
> Enough babble, on with the chapter.  
> My thanks for your reactions still stand, as always. I cannot express how flattering it is to receive kudos, comments, messages, reviews. Please continue, it gets the muses to run amok! :)
> 
> I continue at your disposition on my Tumblr:  
> modernanglophilia. tumblr. com/

“Pffft,” Natasha giggled mockingly as Clint's head fell forward, knocking down a cup of dubious contents in its descent. “Weak americans... I grew up on this stuff.” She took another fortifying swig of her vodka, drinking it pure.

“Pretty sure you're just drinking water, 'Tasha,” Tony slapped her thigh gently. Of the five that had began the competition, four now remained. Bruce and Steve had decided against joining them, the former due to fear of losing control, the latter because of “ridiculously high morality”, as Stark had put it. He also had the distinct feeling that the super soldier didn't want to humiliate any of them, as he would surely have come out on top.

“It's what it feels like to me, in any case,” she smirked, but her eyes had already acquired a red tint around the irises, and her flushed cheeks were conclusive proof that the cup in her hand did not hold any innocence. 

“ANOTHER!” Thor bellowed, throwing a shot glass to the floor where it shattered in protest. It was the third one he had broken in the past hour, and Tony bitterly regretted getting out his custom made collection, each one engraved with a drawing of his arc reactor. He didn't blame himself for the state the god of thunder was in, though. He blamed Clint, two bottles of tequila, salt and wedges of lemon. If the confounded archer hadn't presented the god to the entire ritual, which the latter found extremely amusing, Thor might still possess some of his senses. “Midgardian beverages are much headier than ours,” he slurred loudly. “I have had Midgardian ale, which is tasteless and far too bitter. But _this_!” He grabbed the bottle of tequila by the neck and shook it towards the sky. “ _This_ is worthy of the gods!” 

Sitting on the floor, legs stretched and crossed at the ankles under the coffee table, Loki leaned back his head and laughed, interrupted midway with a delicate hiccup that made Natasha smirk. Hiccups, she knew, were the first sign of being too far gone. Even through the delicate drunken veil shadowing her thoughts she knew that it meant his brain synapses were slowing down and functioning chaotically. One look over at Tony, whose eyes were alert and observing the god on the floor next to his legs, told her _he_ , on the other hand, was far from inebriated. His pupils themselves told the story as they adjusted to the light changes caused by the television without a second of hesitation. 'That _bastard_ ,' a voice in her head sparked up. She began watching him closely, trying to pick up any tips she could for other drinking games the future may reserve. 

“Feeling good, god of mischief?” Tony smirked down at the god, whose eyes were slightly unfocused as he took in his brother mimicking a battle story with emphatic movements. Loki let his head drop back on the couch, amazed at the effect alcohol had on his human form. The odd position made him perceive the engineer over him from a different angle, making his head spin at an uncomfortable speed. He lurched himself back with miscalculated force and smacked his forehead against the coffee table before him. A roar of laughter emanated from his older brother, waking up Clint's sleeping figure on the couch. “Loki? Are you okay?” The voice seemed to come from far away, maybe even from Asgard. His view wasn't much better, shadowed by clouds of liquor and whatever else he had consumed. He shook his head, trying to lift the veil from his eyes but was only rewarded by thumping and further spinning. “Guys, we have another one down.”

“Already?” Natasha's voice had begun slurring, her accent becoming oddly evident. “Oh well, as we say in Russia, bолко́в боя́ться, в лес не ходи́ть.” Tony lifted an eyebrow at her. “If you can't stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen.” She smiled, shrugged and downed the rest of her drink.

“Well, if it's all the same to you, I'm going to put the god of mischief to bed with some ice cubes on his forehead. Can't have our hostage all banged up.” Thor paused the story he was telling an already asleep Clint to stare curiously at the engineer.

“I can take care of my brother, Anthony,” he said imperiously. “He is my responsibility after all.” As he made towards the younger sibling who still cradled his forehead in his hands, Tony stopped him.

“No, it's okay, I'll take care of him. I've had enough anyway.” Natasha scrutinized him, still not seeing any effects of alcohol though he had seemed to down a bottle of scotch in the past hour. He noticed her inquisitive stare and smirked uncomfortably. She was too astute for his own good. The shrug he threw her way was coated in Stark swagger, something he had unconsciously picked up from his father while still in his teens. “You guys continue. I should keep off the sauce, you know, plus Natasha is giving me a run for my money.” He stood up, feigning a sway to perfection and throwing the russian agent off guard. Stooping down, he scooped Loki up by the shoulders and supported him, guiding them both to the elevator. The walk was slow, hesitant, but the god put up no resistance and leaned against Stark contently. Strands of black hair fell over his closed eyes and lips, brushing against the engineer's collar bone as light as a feather. The urge to brush them softly away had to be fought with an intensity Tony had not expected. 

The elevator doors closed behind them, the ride up was smooth yet heavy with the silence and Loki's drunken breathing. Stark shifted him, his shoulder cramping from holding the god at an awkward position, and let a hand rest around a sharp hipbone. It stuck out just so, the hours of workout they had been having together had worked miracles on a figure that seemed so close to starving before. The god stumbled forward, once again losing his fleeting balance, but Stark's reflexes were sharp. His other hand shot up, pushing Loki back by the chest, and the planes of muscles he felt underneath the thin tissue separating skin from skin contracted gently at the touch. The doors opened silently. Stark was thankful the elevator was across from Loki's room as he was beginning to feel the situation going to his head while blood seemed to desert it. He took a particularly long breath, trying to grasp at the reasons for which he was doing this. It all seemed so petty when the god in his arms looked so fragile.

“C'mon, big guy,” the engineer lowered Loki gently onto the bed. A hand clenched at his shirt, not daring to let go. “Hey, don't worry. I'm not just going to leave you here.” The grasp loosened, a movement of trust. “Really, Loki. Don't worry.” The body in front of him relaxed completely, a sigh escaping thin parted lips. Stark couldn't help but grin at the slight figure underneath him, realizing how much this small trust between them influenced the god's reactions. “Hey, can you hear me at all?” the engineer's voice was gentle, wondering if he had waited too long to bring Loki to bed.

“I -hic- I can hear you, Anthony,” the answer came slowly, voice of velvet and accent thick. “I thank you for bringing me back to my chambers...” Stark's smile only grew with the reassured tone of the god's voice. “Would you mind fetching me some water?”

While Tony filled a small cup full with tap water, the god pulled himself up on the bed, begging his body to cooperate. The alcohol did not seem to obey his brain, altering his center of gravity and pulling him to one side or the other. Returning to the room, the engineer couldn't help but chuckle at the sight before him. A god had let his guard down under his watch. “Are you sure you're doing okay, Loki?”

The trickster sipped down a few gulps of water, trying to appreciate the relief it brought to his already raspy voice. The only problem, he realized, was that the raw feeling in his throat was not due to a lack of hydration, but due to nerves. Though he was sure they were made of steel and he could control them in front of any mortal, Anthony Stark was an exception. The fact that he was human notwithstanding, he stood out next even to gods. An intelligence sharp enough to match his own, with capabilities Loki could only imagine...

“I'm quite fine, Anthony. This mortal body is much too fragile for my -hic- taste.”

“Well... You did very well, all things considered. When Clint brought out the tequila, I thought you'd be gone for good.”

“Have I stumped the all-mighty Stark, then?” The engineer laughed, a deep meaningful sound that ripped through his whole body. Being called 'all-mighty' by a god was one joke too far for the man who considered himself nothing more than a gifted techie. Oh, he realized his inventions were exceptionally applicable to the modern world and that they changed the way the world was perceived, but Anthony Stark could not consider himself any better than any other inventor the world had seen before (though he had an uncanny ability to appear to be an arrogant daddy's boy). He was, after all, no hero. Just a man in a suit like so many others. 

“ _Stumped_ , Loki? Very few things leave me stumped, and your lacking metabolism for alcohol was expected.” A heavy silence followed. “You... _fascinate me_. You're hiding something and puzzles interest me. I'm sure that if I knew you better I'd be able to grasp at all the implicit meanings in your sentences.” The engineer's hands went to the god's shirt, sliding it slowly off his body. He was surprised the trickster allowed himself to be stripped of the cloth so easily, and the ivory skin exposed to Tony's eyes was flawless. It covered sinewy muscles; hip and collarbones apparent under it. 'Tony, calm the fuck down. You need him to _talk_ , not you to _moan_.' As the words made their way across his brain, it was already too late. A delicate whimper left his lips as he unfastened the god's belt, trying to make him as comfortable as possible for the atrocious night's sleep intoxication always brought as company. The god's eyes shot up at the sound, but Tony was quick enough to make it sound like a cough.

“Implicit meanings?” Loki lifted an eyebrow while lifting his hips to facilitate his trousers being taken off his body. “Anthony, not even my father or my brother can see into my stratagems, and yet they think themselves my kin. What hope do _you_ have next to them?” The body over his own shrugged, a movement that reflected doubt and... was that _want_? It couldn't be, but it bent and leaned into him just a tad too much...

“I'm cleverer than Thor, you know?” the engineer seemed to be reassuring himself rather than boasting. “And I can see this weird thing in your eyes every time you talk about your... situation on Earth.” Another shrug. “When you said that one time that if you wanted the world to be destroyed you would have done it... Well, I have this feeling you wanted to tell me something.”

The god's body tensed, moving as far away from Stark's as possible. “What could I possibly have to tell a mortal?”

“Woah, woah, calm down.” The engineer's voice took on a soothing tone, stroking the god's hipbone absentmindedly with a thumb. “You keep speaking of righteousness of actions... I just want to understand _why_.” Emerald eyes shot up to meet chocolate ones, and muscles slackened under Tony's touch.

“They will _never_ understand, Anthony,” the god's voice was pleading and desperate all of a sudden. “How could they _ever_ understand sacrifice when all they ever do is for meaningless valor and their precious humility?” There was pain in the viridian eyes, begging for understanding. “Even my _brother_ 's exile was to learn modesty, but what good can it come to when it cannot protect our family?” Silence was once again heavy around the two men. The trickster's voice dropped an octave before he spoke again. “If it weren't for me the Norns would have taken them, and they do not even know it.”

“Norns...” the engineer was thoughtful, a hand still stroking skin, muscle and bones beneath him. “Like the Destinies in greek mythology?” The trickster lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.

“The Olympians could only dream to fall at our feet, Anthony, but your comparison is acceptable. They work in the same ways, I would guess. If you prefer that I express myself in modern Midgardian, let us say that my _family_ would be long gone if it weren't for me.” Green eyes turned to red as he spoke, the inventor jumping off the bed of fright at the sudden change. “Not that any Asgardian would recognize my hand in their salvation. This is why I accept any and every punishment they decide is mine to bear.”

“You _saved_ them?” the engineer sat on the edge of the bed gingerly, wondering if the flash of red had been in his mind. “How?” The god's eyes flitted closed for spare seconds as he gathered whatever forces he had left. The alcohol had left his brain cluttered, ideas running amok and screaming at him from different directions, feelings unbridled. The touch of the engineer's rough hands on his hipbone still burnt, not only due to different body temperates but... He couldn't place it. It wasn't natural for him to lean into a touch, to want more of it. He kept his lids closed and forced air through his vocal chords, willing the words to make sense and that dark-haired man before him to understand.

“I needed a distraction,” Loki swallowed hard. “Something to keep someone occupied, one would say. And Midgard seemed like the ideal place, so central and fragile and -hic- _willing_.” He forced himself to a sitting position once more, and wrapped his arms around his exposed body. The image was difficult to conceive, a god suddenly looking like a teenager, thousands of years expressed in the motions of a child. Tony fought down the impulse to wrap his own limbs around the taller man, but his plans were unfolding before his very eyes and any false movement would send the god hurdling to a stop. “I _fell_ , Anthony, and I _saw_. Eyes such as mine, and even less such as yours, are not meant to see what lies just out of reach of our boundaries... Imagination has a limit for obvious purposes. We cannot conceive what is out of our own understanding, and seeing it drives us mad, or worse.” Loki's slur became confused, even philosophical, and the inventor couldn't help but smirk at the archetype of drunk he was. Such the opposite of his sober personality. Usually closed, mysterious, evasive, he was suddenly putty in his hands. Words came flowing out, though not smoothly or logically, but they were words none the less, and they would help Stark understand what lay under emerald eyes. 

“What did you see, Loki?”

“ _Death_. My death, and their death, and all for nothing. All for _love_.”

“You're making absolutely no sense, big guy,” a heavy sigh escaped tired lips. “I should just let you sleep.” Standing up slowly, he felt long fingers wrap around a wrist. A strange sense of deja vu filled his mind, but roles were reversed this time. 

“She's waiting for all of us, Anthony,” the grip tightened. “Odin and I made sure of it, so she would be safe. Yet there is another who would take her place and claim her throne, and those who would aid this treachery. It cannot be allowed and, for the moment, they are all safe. _I did it_.” A manic grin gleamed through the low lighting, eyes flashing red again. Sure he didn't imagine it this time round, Stark snatched his hand away from Loki's. “I frighten you with my words, Mr Stark?” The tone was oddly subdued, disappointment dripping from the formal term of address. 

“I've heard worse,” Tony shrugged, trying to slow down his shallow breathing. “Why do your eyes do that?” The god shot him a confused look. “They go... well... _red_ when you get all high-and-mighty.”

“Ah...” Loki mused, resting a chiseled chin on his knees. “I believe you call it genetics?”

“Never seen Thor do it, though.”

“What is the official word you have for it again? Ah, yes. _Adopted_ , Mr Stark. Never forget it. Thor's blood is as close to mine as is yours.”

“Well, what are you, then?”

The god's pupils became slits, nose furrowing into a scowl. “ _Who_ am I, not _what_. I have heard the monsters stories often enough from the All-Father, Mr Stark, and I do not need a random mortal to undermine me further.” Being suddenly addressed as a random mortal was a slap to the ego Stark did not expect. Speaking to Loki was, under normal circumstances, enough of a nightmarish roller coaster ride, but this was becoming ridiculous. He was going through ten emotions per second, each new one contradicting the one before, and his head was beginning to spin though it was free of ethanol. 

“I...” the engineer fixed his gaze on his bare feet, liberating himself from the strong clasp the god still exerted around his wrist. “Sorry.” The word rang out true, though barely above a murmur. A soft eyebrow lifted at the sound, amazed at its being pronounced in a tone so... tangibly real and full of meaning. 

“You're the first.” Tony looked down at the figure on the bed, curling one hand around a snowy shoulder and squeezing gently. Something small dropped from the god's face and disappeared in the folds of his legs beneath him. Forcing Loki's head upwards, the engineer witnessed a tear drop gathering at the corner of his eyes, where it solidified into ice and dropped heavily from his lids. He poised himself in the middle of the bed, no longer caring about the whirlwind of emotions buffeting him into different directions and finally latched to the one instinct that screamed louder than the rest. 

Strong, tanned arms enveloped slender ivory in one quick gesture, cradling a frame that seemed too large in one expert movement and in the perfect position. Long black hair protruded from under Tony's chin, where the god's face matched ideally with the crook of his neck. The engineer felt muscles tensing beneath him, arms straining away and eyes tightly closed. It was a painful reminder of how he personally reacted to any act of kindness and support. The times Pepper had done the same for him, and he had shoved her away or shrugged her off, muttering he was fine (or words to that effect). This thought only made him cling more savagely to the odd being, neither mortal nor god, neither Midgardian nor Asgardian... A non-entity, a concept. Stark's own situation could be relativized from this stand-point. Father issues were all well and good for humans, hard to admit to and ever harder to overcome. What the man (Stark wondered at this choice of word) beneath him had gone and was going through was something out of reach, a kind of broken that transcended universes. Problems that would make psychiatrists shudder and sociologists wonder. A situation that made suicide seem petty, because why cry for attention when no one would answer? 

Muscles loosened when the trickster perceived the desperation in Tony's unrelenting hold. The engineer wasn't only holding on for the god, he was holding on for himself, and Loki's gift to him was to let him. As long as he needed.


	8. When Angels Betray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me virtually a month to crank out a smaller chapter than usual. I will not be inventing apologies, because I know what a damn mess my post-Erasmus life has been, and that I've had an IMENSE writer's block. Which is ironic, as the story is virtually all planned out to the very end. I just couldn't seem to get the words to convey them.
> 
> So I felt that it was time to indulge and, though it's short, remind those who actually enjoy this story that I am not dead. And I'm very much alive and working on it. And will do so until I finish it.
> 
> So here you have it. An extremely short installation, which I hope will be forgiven. I enjoy it, though, and feel it conveys quite a lot for so sad an excuse for a chapter. Let's call in an interlude, shall we?

A ray of light poked through heavy lids. A delicate thumping began in a groggy brain, begging the body for some water, anything that would relieve the lack of liquids and get the membranes back in their usual position. Expensive sheets slid off a slight frame as a hand shot up to one shoulder. Not feeling another presence at that spot, it slithered down to a slender waist, wishing and hoping a dark hand would be there to meet his own. Yet the sinewy fingers met nothing but his own flesh, soft and tender. A small groan left thin, bow-shaped lips, expressing simultaneously pain at bodily discomfort and disappointment at being alone. Begging his body to cooperate, the god's lids fluttered open cautiously, letting ray after ray of light hit his retinas and adjust slowly. Then began the even slower process of lifting himself off the bed and moving towards the only window in his room, overlooking Stark mansion's front yard. 

He stared out at the green lawn, seeing but not perceiving anything as he mulled over the night's events. The last thing he could actively remember was hitting his head with extraordinary force against the coffee table in the living room and being accompanied by Stark to his room. He was aware of a conversation, and vaguely remembered some key moments (had he really told the engineer about saving Asgard? Had he told him _how_ he had done it _?_ ). Yet one specific moment was all he could think about, hazy as it was in the shadows of his memory.

The heat was really the main event, he supposed. He had always had a temperature that ran slightly lower than other Asgardians, but he had not expected the difference to be so much more perceivable with a mortal. He expected his own human shape to adjust to standard expectations such as body temperature, but apparently some things not even Odin could glamour. Or was it Anthony Stark specifically who ran a few degrees above the rest? In any case, it burnt. The touch and caress Stark had languorously left on his thigh had consumed its way through skin, muscle, bones and imprinted itself on his very core. The consequence was a permanent searing sensation around the area, making the god shift his weight uncomfortably, as though trying to shake an actual hand off his body. Yet it persisted. And why did the rest of his body also burn with such a dull consistency? What ungodly feeling kept pulling at the pit of his stomach and why, upon waking up, had he felt the need to feel the other man's presence next to him?

The purely liquid contents in his body gargled, breaking his disturbing chain of thought. Any further attempt at understanding the evening's adventures would have to wait until after his bodily discomfort was through. Loki walked into the bathroom, meaning to search for some water, but his eyes froze on an odd round object, which his brain slowly remembered was called a _coconut_ , two white pills and a note.

'Get yourself presentable. We have things to do. - T.'

The god picked up the fruit, and sniffed gently at the white skin exposed around the broken jagged edges. A humid musty scent filled his head and made his mouth water, and he gladly filled a cup with the water that streamed out of the hole. The sweet refreshment of the beverage revived his senses slowly, his very cells seeming relieved at the salt replacement they so direly craved. Within minutes he was feeling human, though he snarled at the thought, making the small amount of magic he had recuperated crackle down his spine in protest. A shower was an obligation, he realized seeing the slight shimmer of sweat that enveloped his body in the mirror. 'Get yourself presentable.' The words swirled around in his mind, making him feel giddy.

They were dominating, something no one had dared be towards the god besides his own adoptive father and, even then, in vain. It was the fact that Stark had used the words as an invitation more than a command that got the trickster to act so quickly. An invitation was something the god was not used to getting, specially in the past centuries. During his shower he tried to recall the last banquet he had been voluntarily invited to, not just for the fact of being royalty. The numbers took him back over half a millennium. His lips curled into a grimace.

He slipped on a pair of pants and a black t-shirt over a still humid body, fabric clinging to his sinewy limbs. Straightening himself up, he looked over the reflection in the full-length mirror before him. His hair had gotten so much longer since he had arrived, dropping well past his shoulders. A long finger lifted to caress his slender neck as he considered himself. The god came to the conclusion that he had looked much worse. Exercise on a human body showed itself in ways immortal bodies would never reflect. The shirt he wore now clung to muscles instead of drooping limply over his chest and as he stretched his endless arms over his head, tendons and veins were apparent amidst muscle fibers. But that hair... It simply wouldn't do anymore. 

The magician in him fluttered his lashes closed, concentrating a small viridian orb of energy on the tip of each finger. He ran his hands slowly through his raven mane and its tips fell like feathers in slow motion to the floor, where they disintegrated as they hit the cold marble. As his eyes opened, a shudder ran through his body signaling that the small amount of magic he had was now unavailable to him. At least until he rested again. His stock of energy really _was_ ridiculous, he thought to himself. 'We must compensate,' a malicious whisper ran through his mind and a malicious grin worked its way onto his lips as he thought of the engineer. Yet as soon as his wanderings fell on the image of the smaller, tanned man, an unexpected warmth surged through his body. His snarl-grin melted from madness to softness, from survival to _living_. And he was shocked at the change.

“Mr Laufeyson,” Jarvis' voice resounded throughout the room, bring Loki's thoughts back to the present. He jumped at the sound, being the first time he heard the AI in his room, never mind addressing him directly and even less using the name he had chosen for himself. 

“You may call me Loki, machine,” his voice hid any surprise behind a mask of regality. 

“And you, sir, may call me Jarvis.” The god suddenly understood the engineer's ramblings about having given his AI too much sentience. The tone, though neutral, had an underlining of cockiness that reflected its creator. “Mr Stark asks you to come down, if you're ready. He's been expecting you for a few hours now.” The god's eyes widened. How long had he slept? “It's two o'clock in the afternoon, sir. You've slept for ten hours, quite a record considering your usual four.”

“Yes, well... That's enough of that, Mr Jarvis.” The god gave himself one last look in the mirror, straightening his shirt's collar and hem. A sigh escaped him. Magic would have given his skin a glow... But what did he care about _that_? He had no one to impress. Stepping out of his room, the trickster crashed into a bigger body than his own and, from the floor, noticed his burly brother's blonde hair over him. “ _Brother_. To what do I owe this early pleasure?”

“Forgive me,” large hands grasped at his shoulder and lifted him to his feet with ease. “I meant only to enquire of your wellbeing. Midgardian beverages made their impression on you last night, it would seem.”

“Indeed,” Loki couldn't deny that he had made a spectacle of himself. “Though one could barely call it a fair match, Odinson. Had your father not ripped me of my powers...”

“Brother... Let us not start the morn as such. The Man of Iron requests your presence.” Loki's eyes widened in surprise. A note. Jarvis. His brother. How many invitations was he to receive in a day? From the same man, no less. “He was in the kitchen when I last laid eyes upon him. You'd do well to go to him, as I've never seen him in such a state.” Seeing the spark of curiosity in his brother's eyes, Thor chuckled gently. “Do not fret. He is not angry, nor is he forlorn. He was... _whistling_.” The god of mischief's eyes widened further. He quickly left his brother's presence, taking the stairs in bounds.

“Good morning, starshine!” Stark's sing-song voice came from behind the kitchen counter, where he was setting a mug of coffee. “If I knew how to cook, or at least how to make anything without taking two hours, I'd have made you real breakfast. Consider yourself lucky, this is more than any of my one-night stands ever got.” Though his voice continued cheery, the engineer could no longer hide the shadow of shame that flitted across his face at the mention of his conquests. 

The god approached the counter cautiously, unsure of how to address the man before him. His memories of the night before were still unsure, though he was certain they had, somehow, fallen asleep together. Was it just sleep? “I thank you, Mr Stark.”

“Oh.” The mortal's eyes dropped to the mug he held. “Back to this, huh?” He shrugged. “Look, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about yesterday. Getting you drunk probably wasn't the-”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki interrupted Stark, voice stinging. “ _Getting_ me inebriated? If I remember correctly, your state couldn't exactly be considered sober, Anthony.” 

The smaller man gave him a sheepish grin and nodded towards the refrigerator. Another shrug. “I may have... how to put this nicely? I wasn't completely honest with you all last night.” The god opened the cooler's door, and stared at a half-empty bottle of organic apple juice. The look on Tony's face was devilish; on Loki's, murderous.

“You consumed _apple juice_ throughout the whole night? You _feigned_ a drinking match to loosen my tongue?” At each sentence the god's voice became louder, his hair falling onto his face. “You _tricked_ me?”

“Well... Can't say I'm not proud of tricking _the_ trickster. Maybe you should get me a certificate of some sort, put it up in my workshop. Next to my heart.” The refrigerator door slammed, making the glass bottles within it clinker in protest. “Woah, look, I'm sorry. I just figured it'd be the only way to get you to talk to me. Whenever I try you-”

“I have nothing left to say to you, Mr Stark,” the tone was final, and cold. Picking up the steaming mug from the counter, Loki walked towards his corner next to the grand piano. He ran a hand through his hair, uncomfortable at how short it now felt against his neck. A part of him seemed to be missing, and he had woken up feeling so complete for once. The emptiness in his hand seemed to echo the one he felt in his gut, wrenching him down on the couch. Setting the mug on the floor, he stretched himself out on the whole length of the settee and closed his eyes tightly against the burning in his eyes. 

Again he was being invited for other reasons, other than his presence. How had he been foolish enough to think that anyone wanted him _there_? How drunk had he been to believe that Anthony Stark, the man who literally lacked a heart, cared for him? He wanted _knowledge_ , valor, honor. Like everyone else. Asgardiands, Midgardiands, there were no differences. He was the one who was different, tainted. No. _Unique. Valiant_. _Daring._ His jaw set tightly, determined. A long arm stretched towards the floor, looking for the book he knew he had left somewhere in that vicinity.

“You don't ever fucking get it, do you?” a deep voice resounded over his head, a shadow impeding light from crossing his lids and penetrating his retina. He felt the weight of a book fall on his stomach. “When you said we were alike, Loki... Way back then.... You didn't know the half of it.” 

A flitting finger traced his cheek bone, a thumb rested gently on his lips. Opening his eyes, the touch was already gone. Stark's back turned as he moved away.


	9. When Fiends Conspire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A month.  
> Really? A WHOLE month it took me. I've been writing random parts of this on this little notebook I carry around with me everywhere, and it has taken a whole lot of editing to get to where it is today (which I think is suitable enough to present to you beautiful people).  
> I hope you enjoy it.  
> And I hope, if you have any doubts and pressing matters, that you'll come find me in my humble abode:  
> modernanglophilia. tumblr. com/

In the couple of weeks following, the house was no longer a home to anyone, not even its owner. Banner secluded himself in his room as to stay as little as possible in contact with Stark who, true to predictions and his own self-destructive streak, began bringing and flaunting a small parade of women in front of their noses (and kicked them out the following morning just as ceremoniously). Though before he had mostly turned to alcohol to numb the hand that was constantly clenched around his heart, he had found that a warm pair of legs wrapped around his neck at night worked just as well, if not better. Loki, much like the beast within Banner, retreated further and further into himself, more so even than the weeks just after his arrival. The agents, still largely absent from the house due to missions, hadn't seen him in bordering three weeks. Romanoff became increasingly jumpier at the sound of approaching footsteps and Barton had taken to sitting on the upstairs balcony, feet dangling over the railings and watching over the whole estate. Thor, unable to understand what had transpired between his brother and the engineer took, for once, the smart decision. He stayed away for a week, claiming his absence wouldn't be felt whilst the trickster refused to step out of his chambers. Only two people had seen Loki since his falling out with Stark: Steve Rogers, who caught him in the middle of the night making coffee and, to both the god's surprise and her own, Miss Pepper Potts. 

It had been a particularly unrestful night for the god. Thoughts haunted him nightly delaying his sleep, and when it did eventually come, they accompanied eerily real nightmares. The things he had witnessed whilst falling through the chasm had torn a hole within him that no feeling of righteousness nor knowledge of value would fill. Before even laying down his head on the pillow, he knew sleep would elude him that night.

When sleep forsake him, he took to pacing an eternal trail that carried him from one corner of his room to another and back again. Not for the first time Loki felt like a trapped animal, caught in a cage infinitely too small for him, and he didn't mean his chambers. His own body felt too small and unfamiliar to him. Though a strand of magic spiraled languorously down his spine, trying to comfort him, it was in vain. And so he stretched out again, trying to amplify the surface of his body, hands reaching and grabbing desperately over his head. They gripped the air pointlessly, begging for something substantial in their grasp but closing around definitive nothingness. 

Hoping to fill the ever growing void in his mind and trying to compensate for the lack of magic in his body, the trickster filled his brain with theories and formulae. The pile of books next to his immaculately made bed balanced vertiginously, difficulty growing as they reached the top. It was with numbers flitting through his view that he stepped out of his room at five in the morning and went down the winding staircase. Upon reaching the bottom he heard scuffling footsteps. The only other person he knew who would possibly be wondering around the house at such an hour was a certain engineer he did not wish to encounter. And so it was that ducking elegantly behind a pillar Miss Potts found the god of mischief.

“Mr Laufeyson?” she hissed. “You scared the living daylights out of me! What are you _doing_ over there?” She took a few steps back, away from the god and placing the pillar to her left, in case she needed to duck for protection. Her eyes widened taking in Loki's emaciated figure. He had looked so well the day he had come to apologize to her, but the weeks had gone by quickly. It was obvious by the way his hair clung to his sharp cheekbones and the awkward movements he made that something had happened.

“Miss Potts, how do you do? What brings you to _Stark_ mansion at such an early hour?”

Her eyes captured the wince his eyes were unable to hold back as he spoke her employer's name. Had mentioned engineer been there, he'd have matched the tone of voice to the one the god used when speaking his brother's name. All Pepper had as means of analysis was the haunted look he had around him. “Oh, well...” She hesitated. “I was just picking up some paperwork I'd left in Tony's workshop. I needed it first thing this morning. 

“Is that so?” One of his eyebrows lifted ever so gently. “Seems like an unusually early hour to come looking for papers. But then...” he shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips, “what would I know about mischief?”

Her cheeks flushed, freckled skin turning red as she shook her hand emphatically. Yet the glimmer in Loki's eyes showed he had recognized the signs. Her hair was too perfect, and her skirt screamed that it had spent the night on the floor. The slight snort from the trickster's lungs brought her back to earth and she whispered desperately, “Please don't tell him.” Her eyes flickered towards the downstairs corridor. “We're not ready yet.”

Loki shrugged again, looking genuinely bored. “It isn't any concern of mine what you do in your own spare time, Miss Potts. And as for Stark's well-being... I really could not be any less bothered.”

“Well, suit yourself. Just don't blame me if one day you go looking for him and he shuts the door on your face.” Puzzlement grew on Loki's face. Did she know what had happened between the two of them? What _had_ occurred, exactly? Even he had yet to grasp the complete details, or the implications, of that one night. “You're not the only one good at guessing things, Mr Laufeyson. You forget I've been CEO of Stark Industries, and knowing how to read expressions is management 101. You understood who I was talking about as soon as I mentioned him, that's not _nothing_.”

The god grimaced. How dare this human woman imply that he would ever go sniveling back to someone? He who had let go of his own brother's hand and dove into eternal darkness; he who had shunned every hand stretched out towards him since his fall. The god of mischief and chaos needed no one, nor would he ever. He had learnt to be self-sufficient, vain, knowledgeable. Since an early age books had been his loyal companions in every time of need and the same held fast ever since.

While these thoughts flashed through his head, Miss Potts shrugged gently. “Look, it'll be your loss. Tony can be a bit of an ass, or at least _act_ like one, but he means well. Even when you think it's all over, he'll shoot out of nowhere in that suit and save you one last time.” She gave the trickster one piercing look that shook him by its intensity. The fraction of a second it took him to shake it off was what Pepper needed to to swivel on her high-heels and click her way out of the house.

“Humans,” he muttered to himself. “They always seem to manage the last word.”

 

“He's been through all of them,” Stark spoke up suddenly. It had been a quiet day at the lab and five weeks since he had last spoken to the lurking god. Bruce lifted his head in the other side of the room and looked over his glasses at his friend.

“Sorry, who did what?” The set-up in the lab had changed substantially over the course of the weeks. Half of it was now dedicated to Banner's gamma-ray research. Tony had surprised him by shipping in his the materials he had left in various labs across the world during his travels. Of course, very little of it was actually up-to-date so Stark bought some additions of his own. The days following the apparition of the whole new lab had been the most tranquil the house had seen since what was now implicitly referred to as “the Incident” (capital I, to infer the Importance of It). The beast inside Bruce was subdued as long as he concentrated on spreadsheets and results, and for the past weeks, every window in Stark mansion had stayed intact. 

“Loki.” At the name, Bruce took of his glasses and ran a worried hand through his hair. “He's gone through all the books. The engineering ones.” Stark gently at the nape of his neck, lines forming on his forehead. “Every single one.”

“Can't have,” Bruce shrugged. “Too complex, Tony.” The engineer shook his head.

“You don't get it, Brucey. He's damn smart, took in a whole volume of basic physics in three hours. I saw him go through it like a fucking Nancy Drew mystery.” The scientist snorted. “He's up to something,” his words echoed the ones Banner had muttered to him weeks before. “And don't you say I told you so!”

The scientist stood up on his side of the lab, putting his hands on the small of his back and pushing, making vertebrae crack one by one. The silence was heavy between the two of them, and uncomfortable. The tension in the room was tangible, a novelty in the workshop that functioned so well on a normal basis. The truth was that Banner hadn't dared invoke the Incident, it had felt like trespassing on a part of Stark's psyche that he simply wasn't prepared to face. He imagined Tony Stark was separated into clear, distinguishable personalities, and he had taken the time to lovingly nickname each one of them. First came Chief, a master of public relations who could get away with anything and still have the world falling at his feet with a grin; the Iron Man, that appeared only when the suit was firmly attached to his body, much like Chief it was ready to take on the world at a second's notice, with more snark; but there was also the Boy. In his mind, when Banner imagined dialogues with this part of Tony's personality, he would always finish his sentences with “kiddo”. The Boy, he thought, was the part of the engineer's mind that had been left untouched by his parents' death. It carried with him all the doubts and fears of a teenage boy, on the brink of becoming independent. It was the voice inside Tony's head that made him break down at a second's notice when he closed the door to his room at night. Breaking down and crying would be all well and good, but it didn't stop there. A last part of him, the part Banner had named the Monster, haunted and taunted Kiddo every night, creeping under the bed and waiting for the Boy to come out and play. Night after night it took over, the Boy huddling for safety in a corner of his mind, and Monster took over, self-destruction ensuing.

“Bruce?” the engineer shook Banner gently. “You in there?” The scientist shook his head, clearing it of images of a boogeyman gobbling up a child. 

“Yeah, sorry. Look...” Banner scratched at the nape of his neck, gathering words that scattered around his brain. “As much as he reads the books, he can't really _do_ anything unless he gets materials, or access to your lab, right? And he doesn't exactly have clearance to come in here.” Tony nodded at where the scientist's flawless logic was going to. “So, I mean, you either have to get it out of your head, or you have to confront him about it.”

The engineer's eyes widened, not expecting this conclusion. “Woah, hold your horses. Have you _seen_ the guy? I mean, literally, he hasn't been out of his room in weeks.” Bruce snorted. “No, really, I honestly want to know if you've seen him.” Another snort.

“I haven't, but Steve and Clint have, and obviously Thor. He doesn't look good, apparently. The older brother is getting worried, mutters about _sustenance_ every time Loki comes up in a conversation.”

“And does he come up _often_?”

At that, Bruce stopped. He wasn't quite sure how to respond, as admitting to talking about Loki implicitly meant talking about Stark. The engineer knew well enough that their falling out was common knowledge, but he was the only one who had all the details as to why. The _why_ , he thought to himself, is that the little _diva_ can't handle being outsmarted.

“Well, it depends on what you define as often, I guess.” Stark raised an eyebrow and huffed. Edging about a subject was Banner for _I don't want to give an answer, so I'll insist you ask the right question_. 

“Brucey, c'mon. How often does our fight come up in your conversations?”

“Whenever you're not there,” the answer came quickly.

“Ah, perfect. It's good to know I'm constantly the center of attention, whether present or not.” Bruce grinned, Stark flashed a smile back at him. “You know I love it.” A nod.

“Look, we're just worried. We really think you should talk to him because he seems really unbalanced.” A pause. “More unbalanced than he was before, in any case, which is really saying a lot, if you think about.”

A hand, the same familiar one of each night, curled finger after finger around his heart, compressing ever tighter at each beat. He didn't _want_ to think about it. The image of Loki's emaciated figure appeared in his mind's eye, dark shadows circling his eyes, lips thinner and whiter than a sheet of paper. He ran his hands through his hair in exasperation, pulling sharply at the tips. _Fuck_. He stood up suddenly, his chair tipping over behind him, and ran for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Bruce cried out in surprise.

“There's a pretentious diva that needs attention.” He paused at the stairs, mulling over his words, and stared back at the scientist. “And _no_ , I _don't_ mean myself.” And he was gone.


	10. When Fiends Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm... Hi. It's been a while. I'll give a quick explanation as to why: I'm a Master's student. When I started this, I was an Erasmus student. Time-wise, availabilities for fanfiction writing are very different, as I have been mashing essay after essay since September 2012. 
> 
> Now it's May 2013. And there's a new chapter. And I hope you like where this is going. I know where it's going, which is what is so exasperating about my situation. We'll get there. Bear with me.
> 
> As always, any comments and criticisms and kudos are much appreciated. You can also find me at modernanglophilia. tumblr. com/

“Loki?” Stark knocked and began sliding the door open before waiting for an answer. He knew the regal voice would have told him to shuffle off and go do some maths (though it would surely have been more eloquently put), and he simply did not deal well with refusal. So as not to risk being shunned, he found that being imposing generally worked quite well. It caught most off-guard, in any case, and that usually gave him the few minutes needed to argue and eventually get his way. 

This technique did, however, have its flaws. Mainly, it did not leave any room for manoeuvres or backing away. So when Stark did step into the room, he knew that even if he had spent a decade living with gods and mutants under his roof he would never have been prepared for what his eyes beheld. 

The limp body on the floor should have a been enough of a trigger for a person with normal sensibilities to want to leave immediately. Stark, however, took in the position of every single object in the room, from the countless books piled around the immaculately made bed to the full-length mirror at the feet of Loki's lithe body. It is, however, what moved within the mirror that made him stop, and wish he lived a different life. He was becoming weary of incongruous situations and yet... They were the only things keeping him holding onto dear life, giving him a reason to continue to use the suit, searching for better things to do with himself than drowning alcohol. 

From the depths of the looking-glass, he took in the perfect image of Loki, sitting cross-legged on the floor as if reflecting reality. He blinked, and looked again at the fallen body to assure himself that he wasn't dreaming. His hand came up to his chest, tapping the reactor embedded into his chest, thoughts racing at an incomprehensible speed. The Loki in the mirror looked chagrined even with his eyes closed, a soft scowl smeared on his lips and brows knitting slightly together. He seemed to nod once, then twice, and Stark stayed frozen in the very same position since he had first entered the room. 

An obvious reaction should have been to call Thor, a voice told him gently, yet another (stronger) part of him kept his mouth glued shut. Adrenaline poked him awake from his stupor, pushing one foot after the other towards the god's body and bending his knees to the ground. Before he could stop himself, one hand was running through raven hair, down towards the neck to check for a pulse. There was none, the engineer realised as his eyes widened, grasping tighter and hoping he was sorely mistaken. Nothing.

“Jarvis?” he called out, feeling his voice rip through his throat. “Why didn't you tell me our guest _died_?”

“Sir? I beg your pardon, but Mr Laufeyson's scan shows him as very much alive. Healthier than you, one might add.”

The dark man's hands began grasping for every main vein and artery he could remember that might give him a sense of life within the god's body. What were the chances Jarvis' scans were wrong? His mind fumbled with a series of programmes he knew had been installed in the A.I., all of them self-sustaining and most self-adjusting. Statistics were in Loki's favour, and he breathed a sigh of relief whilst running a frustrated hand through his hair. 

“How is that even possible? I can't feel one goddamn pulse, Jarvis.”

“Well, sir, if my scans are correct, you are not actually touching him at this moment.” Silence. “He's a few inches to the North of your position.” Stark lifted his head, and came face to face with Loki's mirror image. Viridian eyes flashed wide open as the engineer grazed the glass surface with a shaking hand, making him lose his balance and fall back, another hand still gripping the white neck. The moment it took for him to regain his dignity was enough to miss a dark shadow passing behind Loki, pearl-grey curls whipping in the wind as they disappeared into the fog. It was also the time needed for the limp body on the floor to stir. Stretch. Awaken.

Stark's gaze lifted as the lifeless body before him sat slowly and regally. Though it was more emaciated than the last time he had set eyes upon it, it still held all the elegance he remembered. Frozen to the floor, the engineer couldn't but stare as the human god crossed his arms and scrutinised him right back. 

Silence reigned for the entirety of five minutes. Emerald and amber connected continuously, neither daring to word the questions banging about inside their brains. From one side there was doubt, trust in shambles as he tried to comprehend what the situation could possibly mean for his safety and that of his friends and loved ones. From the other, the doubts stemmed from different roots, not quite sure how to explain away the odd situation nor why the genius engineer had thought he could enter his room uninvited. The silence only deepened when, due to a discreet shift in light (one Stark attributed to his AI), both men realised the singularly odd position they found themselves in. 

Barely a foot separated their noses from touching, the human's hands still frozen upon the god's neck, as if clutching for a pulse. Though the god's position had shifted, the human had not found the strength (nor will, when he bothered to think about) to loosen his grip from the mesh of veins and tendons. The contact had become all the more soothing when he had felt a steady rush of blood begin to flow through it, following a rhythmic series of pulses. A gentle cough resounded against the engineer's hand, and he was jolted back from his stupor. The words coming from his vocal cords were raspy, slow.

“I thought you were dead.”

“I was.”

The answer was cold, short, calculating. Doubts still echoed in the back of his eyes, loud enough for the engineer to see them and finally shift his gait an entire couple of feet back. The accuracy of the answer was enough to strike a man down, but Stark was a scientist. He required explanation when a puzzle was set before him.

“Sorry, didn't catch that. I thought I heard you say you were dead?” Sinewy limbs picked themselves up from the floor, stretching limber arms over his head. He shrugged, then nodded, internally wondering how much he could reveal. Tan fingers scratched gently at the patch of hair under his lips and he looked up quizzically at the man over him. He stretched out his legs before him, waking up the dormant muscles and sighing. “Are you _okay_?”

The question was genuine. It was even delivered with _feeling_. The god had only been testimony to that when questions of the like were voiced by his brother's distinct baritone. Yet there was an undertone, an insistence on the last syllable of the last word that reflected a sentiment the god could not for the life of him (and the years were numerous) comprehend. For some unexplainable reason, the genius that sat on the floor, looking up at him with a child's gaze (a mixture of curiosity, keenness and care) actually wanted to know if he was _okay_.

“I am perfectly alright,” the regal tone was back in his voice before he could actively suppress it. But then again, so were the following words, slipping off his tongue easily. “I excuse myself, but I had simply received a message.”

Silence.

The gears turning inside the engineer's brain were almost audible. 

“A... _message_ ,” a tone of incredulity settled itself on his voice, not quite turning it robotic.

“As I see it, I'm a prisoner in this house, Mr Stark. I believe I must explain myself as I have been caught doing something that may be perceived as a threat, thus removing the few privileges I may have acquired.” He paused, stalking his way to a pile of heavy volumes and sitting himself down upon it. The makeshift chair barely stirred at the movement, as if the god's weight added no more to it than a few extra pages. “I urgently needed to make contact with my daughter.”

As if on queue, Tony raised and eyebrow at the word uttered. “ _You_ have a daughter? I thought gods had things pretty wrapped up on pre-marital sex.” An odd noise was emitted from the norse god's throat, remarkably resembling a snort. How one made a snort gracious was beyond Tony Stark. 

“For someone who seems to be so well read, Mr Stark, the basics of mythology seem to be well beyond your capabilities and expertises.”

“I'm offended, Loki. Mythology is right up my alley. I _am_ the modern myth after all.” Another snort. Stark was beginning to like the noise. It reminded him that he was capable of amusing a god. “But go on, I interrupted you. And I don't think I've processed the fact that I'm openly speaking to a zombie as if it were casual friday.”

“I'm not undead, you bore of a man. How lacking of imagination must one be to believe there may only be two states to one's life?” The sigh that followed was one of derision. “I'm simply no longer dead. Speaking to my daughter has a price.” He picked up a small vial from the floor by his feet, and tossed it to the engineer who pinched it out of the air. An acrid smell overpowered his senses as he took in the lingering yellow layer of liquid left on the glass' interior. Poison. Anything with that odour and colour was nature's way of saying 'Keep back. Save yourself.'

“I thought your lot had a pretty strong motto about suicide too.”

“Oh, Norns, your tendency to impose Judeo-Christian values upon others is quite wearing. Somehow, your spirit has even managed to contaminate the East, and they were so close to evolving to something _better_.” He added as an after thought, “Or at least more interesting. Monotheism really ended all of our fun.” The eye roll he offered the human was positively cocky.

“Well, someone seems to have been reading up on our world history.”

“One cannot mean to rule over a realm without comprehending its internal workings. Humanity seems easy enough to understand on paper, Mr Stark. If only you weren't so... _unpredictable_.”

“Unpredictable? Interesting. People generally go with volatile." The god's gaze captured amber eyes – a smile came over his face radiating gently. And tried as he might, his answer coming out in a drawl simply wasn't enough to cover the light-heartedness of the comment.

"So egocentric… One might confuse you for an Aesir."

“What, like Thor?” the mechanic snorted. “Unlikely. But in any case, you seem to be manipulating the conversation exactly the way you wanted to – get on with the story, or I'll just have to call big brother.”

“You were the one interrupting my explanations with unseemly questions concerning my progeny. Nevertheless, I understand I must continue. As I was saying, I was contacting my daughter, which required an inconvenient sacrifice. One she provided, mercifully in the form of poison. Hela, as she is called, still possesses her powers. Limited as they are in this realm and dimension, taking my life by her means still bring me to her domain. She delivered me to my own body when we finished... conversing.” 

“So why didn't you just stay there? You were free.”

“No. I was dead. Death is not freedom, Mr. Stark, as my daughter could so aptly show you. To be free, one must _be_. When one is dead, one no longer _is_.” The engineer looked over the god, science and magic personified staring each other down. 

“You can't have been. Jarvis scanned you. You were _there_.” Tony pointed towards the mirror. Loki lifted an eyebrow, gazing thoughtfully at the mirror. 

“It seems as if your technology pierces through some sorts of magic, Mr Stark. To me, that seems nothing if not impressive.” He gave the ceiling an approving nod, as if acknowledging the AI's presence. “This body was dead. Jarvis did not detect it. What he detected was my imprint, what is left of us when we go to Helheim. He must have registered my existence differently than yours, if what he took into consideration was not my heart beat and body temperatures.”

Tony hesitated, “Not possible. I would know.”

“Have you ever asked?” the god smirked. “It seems to me that humans often undermine their own inventions, Mr Stark. The theory of relativity, for example, seems to have run amok despite initial good intentions. I would not be surprised if your own technology ran ahead of you.”

“I... Uhm...” Tony's eyebrows stitched together. “Jarvis?”

“Sir?” the AI's voice was somehow tinted with smugness.

“You've got some 'splaining to do.”

“I shall, sir. I do not think, however, that this is best situation to do it.” The mechanic sighed. To say the situation was overwhelming was to say the least.

“Fair enough,” he lowered his gaze momentarily, lifting it suddenly to face the god. “So what was the message?” 

Taken aback by the sudden change in subject, the reply came quickly and evasively, “The message was irrelevant, as the matter has been settled.”

“What was the message, Loki? You have a second chance here.” Loki bit down on his lower lip, jutting his jaw forward.

“It has been settled. I am going to help her. As I have always done.” Tony's heart began thumping wildly. The tone in Loki's voice had darkened, and somehow the temperature in the room had lowered. “Her realm is still under threat. One does not meddle with the Land of the Dead, Mr Stark. Not while it is under my daughter's protection.” The resolve in his hardened eyes dared Tony to reply. Somehow, the engineer had forgotten that the god had little magic, it seemed as if he had grown even taller, and regained the muscles he had lost over the weeks of confinement. The words were out of his lips before he could control himself.

“What do you propose to do?”


End file.
